Ragazza Magica Renza Veneti
by Mr CJ
Summary: Puella Magi fight across all time and space, and on the Aligned World of Caglica, one Renza Veneti is about to get thrown into an extremely difficult game of secrecy, Judiciary, Mafiosi and Incubators. In a world where magic is known and understood, fighting in secret as a magical girl is both an easier and trickier thing...
1. Prologue

A/N: A small note before we begin... this is essentially a sci-fi story fusing both the Nanoha and Puella Magi universes, but (Kyubey aside) doesn't feature the characters of either series prominently; all OCs here. If you wanted the kind of thing where Nanoha and Madoka meet, you'll want a different fic. This story is more about the trials and tribulations of ordinary Puella trying to get by unnoticed in a magical sci-fi city with all the mess and complications that can involve.

Finally, I'd like to make a shout out to the primary inspirations behind this fic; _Infinity_ by Mozco for sheer quality of writing, characterisation and humour; _Game Theory_ by Aleph whose spectacular worldbuilding I am merrily cribbing off at every turn and To The Stars by Hieronym, which I consider the quintessential Puella sci-fi fic, again for its excellent worldbuilding and exploration of what it would be to be a Puella Magi in Madoka's new world (though I admit I diverge a bit on how daemons work for this. I loved the idea of the Labyrinths too much to let go of them...).

Well, I hope you'll enjoy this story despite the completely OC cast... let me know what you think! I'm trying to make it as accessible as possible so if I've lost you in some places please; let me know.

-MrCJ

* * *

It looked like a car accident.

That was Renza's guess, anyway. The Barrier extended outwards in every direction, filling up the whole world though she'd only breached the inside a few minutes ago, the glimmering tear in nonreality still sealing behind her back. The wide, pristine streets of the Polincia Boulevard she had been walking down had been replaced with...

...Well, she wasn't completely sure _what_ and _where_ it came from but it was definitely some sort of road. Or motorway. Or a mad painter's vague impression of a motorway if they happened to be really, really drunk. Would probably take some of those black market pills to get quite to this level of abstract insanity.

Where one would normally expect a motorway to be flat, with nice, gentle curves laid out for the sake of the drivers, this one... or this multiple ones, ignored all the common logic that went with what made a road. As if a bored bunch of architects had detonated a ball of string, frozen it in time and built their roads to the free-falling, drifting squiggles; lines flying upwards, outwards and everywhere, the roads weaving, looping, twisting in an impossible, illusionary maze. Like standing on Road Spaghetti. And this was just the roads.

Streetsigns and lamposts, not posted at regular intervals, here thoroughly and with intent ignored all common sense; forming jail-like rows of bars; sprouting crazy, metal trees; growing out organically from every angle at every surface in complete and cheerful disregard of the laws of geometry, physics and gravity. Just like everything else in this damned Barrier.

As for the car crash comment, well, that was explained by the cars. They floated, they drifted, suspended in zero gravity in a slowly swirling chaotic minefield of shattered plastics and crushed polyfiber. All bore some kind of damage, and - this was where it got weird - half of them had designs she couldn't even recognise. Your average Caglican electric barca made up the majority; built like little pods roaming around on three wheels with bulbous antigrav devices built around the base; but some of the others... some of the others were just plain _bizarre_.

Four wheeled, eight wheeled, seventeen-and-a-half wheeled. A few of them looked like their designers started drawing and just didn't know when to stop; others were quite blatantly just children's toys a few scales up. One or two appeared to be ornate boxes of wood with a wheel on either side and straps of... animal hide? Maybe? Mounted on the front? Kaisers knew what _those_ were. All awash in a mishmash of colours, most she recognised, some she was pretty sure didn't exist. And all in a dizzying, drifting array that swung and crashed into each other like clouds, whilst the mad roads ran random, scurrying paths weaving in, between and around. Quite where the light to see all this came from she had no idea.

So yeah. Car crash.

It was always a little disorientating breaking into a Daemon Barrier.

Renza shook her head, blue hair (which wasn't _that_ long, no matter what her classmates kept telling her) fluttering around in random patterns. Something seemed off about the air currents in here. She'd transformed before she broke in - just common sense - but the girl stretched her limbs and double-checked her outfit anyway.

Blue, naturally; a particularly royal sort of blue deep enough to drown in, making up a dress, ornately fond of white lace and ruffles, flowing down from the collar to flare around her thighs. The knee-high boots were solid and practical. The disconnected flouncy sleeves that spewed out over her hands... well, those weren't. A gleaming white ribbon, really too large for its own good, tied her hair back at the base of her neck, nestling, she knew, a cerulean blue gem the size of her fist.

Kaisers, the number of problems _that_ arrangement had caused.

If you didn't look at it too closely, it could probably pass for a fancy Mid-Childean style Barrier Jacket. She certainly hoped it would. Of course, _why_ she was wearing a Barrier Jacket would raise it questions all by itself, but it was easier to lie about that. Keeping the secret here was... tricky. Girls supposedly had it easier on Non-Administered worlds but it didn't look like she'd be getting off to any of those any time soon. And besides; Caglica was home.

She nodded. Everything seemed to be in order. Time to get to work.

"_Kyubey; the situation?"_

"_Ten, in the centre of the barrier."_ The telepathic return was calm and unhurried, sounding a bit like a small, whispering child at the back of her mind. _"The miasma is thick though; it's best not to linger."_

"_I'm on my way."_

Putting the oddities of the barrier and the unfairness of her costume out of mind, Renza darted forward, covering distances in vast leaps and bounds, her acceleration from 'standing' to 'cannon-fire' faster than a human should withstand. This was always the best part.

Leaping from car to car to signpost to signpost, she flowed up the mad, non-dimensionally abstract world, a dart of blue in a kaleidoscope of foreign colours. Wind brushed past her face barely more than a fresh, dawn breeze and the power in her legs came naturally like a brisk morning jog as she cleared vast cliffs of broken automobile and twisted lamppost with every bound.

Even for a Puella Magi, she knew she was fast.

She felt it; a subtle tug at the tip of her spine where her soul gem rested. Instinctively she looked down, skidding on the ribbon roads to slow her momentum for a proper look.

Ten people, just as the Kyubey said, sitting in the centre of an oversized roundabout; a crayon sketch of black asphalt and white painted lines as if viewed through a bucket of water. Too-tall figures surrounded them, made of white cloaks and bald heads ending above the jaw in a glowing, abstract, pixelated mess. Daemons. Just over a dozen crowded around the inert civilians, standing tall at twice the size of a man, emitting a low, brassy hum like priests in reverence. She wondered if the ancient Priest Kings looked something like this. Renza could hear their droning even from her vantage point miles above.

...Though maybe the hearing was a Puella thing. They were weird like that.

Shaking the pointless thoughts from her head, she crouched down into a coiled spring. At a mental command, a pair of axes wrought in ornate silver burst into her hands, erupting from her floofy sleeves, clearly defying the logic of how they could fit up there. The metal was a familiar, natural weight; her grip solid and ready. She er, wasn't completely sure why her wish had seen fit to provide her with _axes_ of all things (it seemed a little brutish; swords were infinitely more heroic), but she'd never had the courage to ask.

She focused, counting properly this time. 13... 14 Daemons. The chanting drone built steadily in pitch and volume, and the faint, sickly smell of miasma began to creep up even to her lofty heights. Kyubey was right; the civilians wouldn't last much longer.

Still... a little over a dozen that were unaware of her presence, and she had a decent high ground. Yeah, she could solo this.

"_Kyubey, take cover."_

"_I have."_

Dropped wasn't the right word. She launched; her platform of a multicoloured plastic semi shattering under the force as Renza lanced forward; a blue and silver missile. She flung the axes in her hand outwards, sending them whistling away in symmetrical spinning arcs converging on the monsters below. She tossed two more pairs out in this manner before drawing the final set and preparing for landing.

Not that she'd slowed down, or anything.

The first hint of her arrival was a resounding sonic boom that shook waves through the distorted air of the motorway barrier. Followed shortly by the largest concentration of daemons abruptly detonating in a conflagration of sound and noise as royal blue rocket slammed down from the heavens. The wave of scything axes, thrown to strike all their targets at the same time, followed next, sweeping down at the six furthest from Renza's crash site. Ten in total fell in the first strike, their disrupted forms breaking away into pixels and flakes of pure white light, their drones rising to a distorted scream as the rubble cascaded around them.

...Now for the tricky part.

The four remaining reacted immediately, dispersing and flowing backwards in a retreating formation, building distance and spewing forth lances of deadly energy in unpredictable gutts and bouts that pierced through the clouds, zeroing in directly on her position.

And Renza's crater was pretty damn big.

Still reeling from the sheer power of her dive, she forced herself out with a burst of magic in her legs, feeling the heat of the return volley passing way, _way_ too close past her head. The daemons were aware of her now, backing away and splitting up, trying to pen her down in a vicious crossfire until one of them could land a finishing strike or the torrent of lances could tear her to ribbons.

The back of her neck felt very exposed.

She charged, desperate to catch at least one of them before they could relocate to their advantage. Her magic made her good for one thing; mad, crazy dashes and crashing into stuff. Race in, get close, hack it to pieces, keep going. Generally a pretty good strategy, except for the part where daemons could cheat.

The nearest daemon she lunged for sank straight down through the ground; her axes whistling through nothing but air.

Acting quickly, she slid into a roll that bled off momentum - with the daemons' uncanny accuracy, doing anything in a straight line would be suicide - using the motion to disguise her tosses as the axes flung out from her hands to zero in on her next target.

Trying to get clever and take two out at once simply wasn't worth it. Her designated victim swept out of the way of the first axe and almost dodged the second, taking a spinning hit to its side sending it reeling and rolling through the ground. A definite strike, but no clue if she'd actually killed it.

No time to get one either. The next barrage came down and she was already moving; attention switching to the attackers that remained. That one would be down for at least a few minutes, and she had to find where the one she missed first went before it could snipe her in the back. For the next five minutes, 'Out of Action' was good enough. The future was miles away.

The two she could see stood on the opposite side of the roundabout. The enthralled crowd of civilians - office workers and engineers, from what Renza's spared glance could guess - sat directly in the centre, still listlessly staring into nothing and mindless of the artisan carnage around them. Charging through _that_ would be suicide for her and death for the civilians; the daemons wouldn't kill them off-hand whilst they were being drained, but she knew taking out a Puella would hold far greater priority. So she took to the ribbon roads.

Each landing redirecting her velocity with a flick of her foot, she danced and weaved amongst the spinning cars and road signs like a mad, coral pinball as volleys of light turned everything behind her into painted slag. She ricocheted her way through the mayhem, swinging out from the side, coming back around to the opposite end of the roundabout, only to find the daemons had, of course, moved as well. Her eyes widened as she took in exactly what they'd done.

_Bastards!_

Whilst she could not dash past the civilians for fear of casualties, the daemons had no such compunctions. The two she'd tried to flank in the first place had taken the far more expedient route of just moving across themselves, leaving her right back in the same situation as she started. The third reappeared straight up in the middle of the crowd, spitting out lances alongside its fellows as if daring her to charge. There was no sign of the fourth.

Heading for the roads had been a mistake; the only thing she'd gotten was further away. She couldn't pull back for another skydive either; they'd only follow her and she wouldn't get the distance. And that bastard in the centre damn well knew it.

Well, fine. Fuck him. Her axes didn't fly in straight lines.

Nothing said they had to fly in predictable arcs, either.

The two she was carrying flew out in curved trajectories, spinning around a car and a battery carrier carved from wood. They arced in on the two at the back as if a distraction, making their targets shift positions without a skip in their barrage. More fool them.

Renza couldn't make them dance about like gnats, but she'd found through trial, error and a lot of broken fenceposts that she could tweak her axe trajectories in mid air. Put simply, the curve of the arcs along which they flew could be controlled to great effect by making small adjustments in their spin. It only worked inwards; trying something crazy like a reverse shot would fail immediately as it robbed them of momentum and dropped them out of the sky. But making them arc _faster?_ Yeah, she could do that.

The pair whistled past the central daemon with barely a flutter of its cloak, the lone figure content to completely ignore them in favour of upping its barrage in support of its targeted allies. As a consequence, it missed the axes' abrupt increase in speed, slicing around in sudden, spiral curves. They crossed once, behind its head, before spinning around in an ever tightening circle that put them in a direct collision course with-

The creature had just enough time to veer backwards in what Renza sincerely hoped was panic before the twin axes smashed right through its face. Yes. That had definitely been satisfying.

The last two dropped straight though the floor with a parting volley of bolts, depriving her of targets. She let her control on the axes fade, letting them careen off to finally crash into whatever. The civilians hadn't reacted a jolt.

She didn't miss a beat. Landing in the centre of the group, she punched a hand into the ground and raised a... well.

In a circle around the would-be victims, the illusionary matter that made up the pavement erupted in a shower of crayon bits and plasticine. Giant, _zweihander_ axes with heads the size of car bonnets - copied from a Belkan museum actually; it's where she'd got the idea - replete in silver and blue, rose up in a criss-crossed, interlocking formation, creating a protective fence that...

...no. Calling it a Barrier, in the Mid-Childean sense, would be an insult to Barriers. The defence was purely physical and, as she knew from bitter experience, littered with gaps painfully easy to snipe through. But it was something. At least it meant she wouldn't win the battle and then turn to find all the civvies had been crushed by some random flying car.

The last two daemons arose on opposite ends. She leapt.

First, she had to break their fire. Two axes flung out, one at each target. There was no way they were going to hit, and sure enough they didn't, but it forced them to move and disrupted their line of fire. Those precious seconds got her out of her own axe-wall.

Second... well, it didn't really matter which she went for first. Her leap left her closer to one over the other, so she went straight for that. Obviously this meant the other would be that much further away afterwards, but what could she do?

The daemon she descended on sank immediately, but she had the answer to that. Faster than it could flee, an axe flew out; at such short range it caught it right at the base at the intersection with the floor. Roughly equivalent to a punch through the lung, she guessed; the giant's sheer size doing it no favours. Clean kill; it broke in half and was dissolving even as she crashed into it herself a few seconds later.

So one left.

Renza panted, beginning to feel the strain. A pressing weight build on the back of her neck; a symptom of her soul gem running low on power. Times like this, she really wished it was at the front so she could see the damn thing and keep better track.

Something triggered. An instinctive reaction flared and she spun into an immediate roll, axe lashing out behind her as she spun.

At her back, the last daemon broke in two. White flakes drifted out like a collapsing snowledge as it died with a mournful tone.

...Renza laughed, stress bleeding out. The past two times now, the final daemon had done the exact same thing. With the her soul gem where it was she... kinda invited being shot in the back.

"_Renza!"_

The little whispering voice.

"Ah, Kyubey! Are you alright?"

A little white creature about the size of a cat, with doubled up ears; one set feline containing the second set, long and floppy, ending with floating metal rings that nonchalantly disregarded the lack of anything to hold them in place. It scampered along the tattered not-quite-aphsalt ground before flowing up her leg and up onto her head in fast, practised motion.

It felt warm, but barely weighed a thing.

"_Fine, thanks to you." _It's mouth, she knew, would be completely static in its fixed, calculatedly cute smile as the creature surveyed the battlefield._ "Your tactics are improving."_

"Ehehe, thank you!"

The axe-wall now redundant, she let it drop and came over to examine the civilians, one eye watching the sky.

"This Barrier is taking a while to-"

"_Renza!"_

The Kyubey's warning barely came in time. A spear of light flashed beneath her, exploding her inner thigh in a stream of bright red gore flashing before her eyes.

Time hung, for a moment. The wound didn't even seem to hurt.

Then the pain crashed down around her, her legs collapsing like a doll on cut strings as her entire leg caught fire in agony and she was colliding with the pavement and the white creature leapt off her head and -

There was enough left in her to immediately roll aside, scraping past the follow-up volley that lashed craters into the not-concrete in a hail of light and crayon powder. Behind her, in the vague direction pointed by her failing legs, right where she'd cut the last one in two, a daemon rose.

A flutter of pixeled flakes caught her attention. A small, granulated gash trailed sparks of light from its side. Even in her horrified state, she recognised it immediately. The one she hadn't quite killed at the beginning. The one she'd winged five minutes ago. She wanted to sob, pain eating through her limbs as red so much red ran away and pooled beneath-

"_Renza!"_

The little Kyubey's distraction nearly cost it dearly; the daemon diverting its attentions immediately and spitting further fire and light, forcing the smaller creature to scamper and flee with spears of energy stabbing at its tail. Renza gritted her teeth, holding in a scream.

A giant axe, bigger than a bus, erupted out from the floor and shattered the daemon like a snowglobe; a cloud of white, pixelated flakes that drifted away into nothingness in peace and serenity.

The axe toppled on its side with a ground shattering clang.

Her final attack. Still working on it after figuring out that wall thing. S-Supposed to be flashier than that...

"_Renza!"_

The little voice sounded close. Behind her head.

"_I've collected some of the cubes. Hold still; I'm going to shut down your pain response."_

Something soft and warm touched something deep inside her, in some indescribable place. Her legs went numb.

"_Don't try to stand."_

For several moments, she just lay there and wheezed. Controlled her breathing. Air in, air out. _Breathe._ Around her, the barrier cracked and faded. The insane diorama did nothing as apocalyptic as collapse in on itself; it simply faded, drifting away, erasing itself in a blur of pixels. She was lying on the top of a building in the Economic District, amongst the glittering white spires and masts, bleeding red bright and lush out from her leg as the barcas skimmed below along the canalways on their light antigrav and gulls called somewhere overhead and that group of office workers she'd forgotten about starting to stir-

Not even a mental command, more like an instinctive tug and her dress cascaded away in a peaceful flutter of blue petals. An equally blue, egg-like shape resolved in her hand for a moment, blurred and unresolved, before shifting into a silver ring on her finger; something normal and irrelevant.

And so Renza Veneti became an ordinary girl with a hole in her leg and a soul in her hand, passing out with a smile.


	2. Chapter 1

**Ragazza Magica Renza Veneti**

**Chapter One**

* * *

"...I'm sorry I can't be more helpful." Renza apologised, clutching the bedsheet that pooled around her waist, her blue hair tied away in a ponytail for convenience's sake. Her civilian Jacket had been configured into a white hospital gown, her name and age displayed on her chest for easy identification by the staff. Bright sunlight filtered through the tall glass windows of the _Policlinico Serenità_; Valezorro's central hospital. The atmosphere was clean and sterile, pleasant and airy. They'd even given her her own private room in the Accidents and Emergency Ward, though presumably in deference to the two officials sitting before her.

The detectives from the Valezorro City Judiciary hung their heads. They made a contrasting pair; a tired, sunken, middle-aged man with shaggy charcoal hair trapped in that twilight period between youth and old age and a woman with clearly Belkan features - blue eyes and blonde hair cut above the neck - sitting neatly and attentively, the very model of a polite but firm investigator that projected so much more confidence than the shabby heap of a man sitting next to her. Both wore the dull grey and Caglican Blue of the Judiciary Office, the sharp fitting suits accentuating both the man's weariness and the woman's professionalism.

Behind them both and visible only to Renza, a Kyubey sat atop a shelving unit, overlooking the proceedings with an intermittent swish of its tail. It had to handle the cover-up, after all.

"It's quite alright." The man said, his voice surprisingly calm and focused for his shabby appearance, leaning forwards on bony elbows. Despite being clearly somewhere in his 30s, his air reminded her vaguely of that of a kindly grandfather.

If that was true, the woman made for a very stern aunt, or possibly elder sister. "Are you sure you can't remember anything?"

"I'm sorry; I blacked out after I was hurt. I didn't see what happened."

"Were the group that brought you in present at the time?"

"No."

"Did you know any of the people in that group?"

"No."

"Do you have any idea what might have caused the mass collapse?"

"No."

The detectives exchanged a glance.

"I'm sorry." She apologised weakly.

The woman slumped her shoulders whilst the man clapped his knees, back creaking as he stood. He offered her an apologetic smile.

"Well, _santina_, I'm sorry we've taken up so much of your time. Your family will want to see you; wouldn't want to keep them."

Renza nodded. "Thank you."

The man held the door open to allow the sister-doctor to poke her head through.

"Your father is waiting outside." she said, as the detectives filed out the room. "Is now a good time?"

She assented, smiling. "Yes, of course!"

The sister-doctor nodded and left, whispering a few words in Belkan outside before the door reopened.

Her old man lumbered in with worry in his eyes. His face was craggy and sunbeaten, looking almost scarred; something his current expression did nothing to help.

"Renza..." He breathed.

She smiled weakly. "Sit, _padre_, please."

Head bowed, the man obeyed, dragging one of the chairs to her bedside. It seemed almost comically small when he sat on it, creaking as it took his weight, his arms crossing over the back of the seat.

"Renza... what happened?"

"Like I told them, padre. I was hurt, then I woke up here. I don't know anything else."

He breathed out, hoarse, giant hands gripping one of her in a rough but warm, cradling grip.

"_Padre..._ it's okay. It's alright. The doctors are fixing me up."

"I just..."

"The investigators will find out what happened." She patted his hands with her free. "Don't worry."

Slowly, the man nodded. "If you're sure."

She smiled, tilting her head. "I am."

He let out one final breath, the weight lifting from his frame, letting his face break into a gentle smile.

"Alright then. I've called in at school; they know you're here."

"What about your work?"

He snorted. "They'll let a man visit his daughter when she's hurt. Be sure of that."

She giggled. Her system was still full of painkillers and even though her Puella nature rendered them useless, by reducing her connection to her gem she could replicate the effects close enough so as not to alarm the ward nurses. A metal and plastic cast covered her injured leg, hidden under the bedsheets, dispensing mana at regular intervals and enticing new cells to grow. Several Physical Heals had been cast on her already; supposedly her body was reacting well; she'd be out in a few days. On crutches, or so the hospital would think, but out.

"Get well soon, _mia belle_." He prayed, still holding her hand. "I don't want to lose you."

Somewhere along the line, the Kyubey had disappeared. Probably tailing the detectives. She looked back down at her father, and patted his head.

"You won't." Renza promised. "I'm right here."

* * *

"I doubt I need to tell you this, but any comments would be appreciated, _Schwesterdoktor_."

The Serenità sister-doctor sighed. It had been a long day and Fraulein Veneti had been an... odd case. It was only natural the Judiciary would be asking questions about it. Having left the room, they stood now in the corridor before the very seat Veneti's father had been waiting; the helpful but busy sister-doctor and the two stoic but polite _Ispetorre_.

The issue wasn't that she didn't want to say anything; she desperately did. The issue was that she didn't really _have_ any information to give, beyond what obvious facts the Ispetorre could and doubtless had deduced themselves.

The paediatrician wrung her hands in frustration.

"I'm sorry, Frau Buhr, Herr Pinici." She explained, pronouncing the man's surname perfectly despite the linguistic shift, "But I really can't explain it. The wound wasn't magical; there's no foreign mana traces on her. If I had to guess I'd say some kind of industrial accident, but..."

...But that couldn't explain why she was found on a rooftop by ten people who'd just regained consciousness. And all three of them knew it.

"Thank you for your assistance regardless, Schwesterdoktor." The female investigator - Buhr - said, bowing politely as the other, Pinici, echoed the sentiment with a nod.

"Will you keep the Church informed?" She asked.

Buhr's lip quirked. "It'll be on the news, I'd imagine."

"We'll be keeping her school up to date in any case." Pinici advised, his Belkan impeccable. The weary man bowed politely. "Though please understand there are issues of confidentiality. We cannot comment on ongoing investigations."

The doctor smiled, familiar with the issue. "I understand. Please contact me if you need anything else, though I doubt she'll be staying here long. She's healing very well!"

Pinici smiled. "We're glad to hear it, of course. Thank you for your assistance."

"A pleasure!"

They shook hands, and the sister-doctor went on her way, off to visit the other wards. The detectives left in the in the opposite direction towards the Serenità's docking stations.

"Well, Fred?" The man asked when they were safely back inside their judicial barca, hovering gently on the waterline. "What do you make of it?"

Junior Ispettore Friederike Buhr frowned in the driver's seat, tapping her chin.

"Hard to say. Crime scene is clean but that leg injury definitely wasn't normal. Lack of security coverage and witnesses is suspicious too."

She shrugged in frustration. "It's all too obvious! If it's an assassination attempt it must have taken a lot of work, but they've hardly hidden their tracks!"

Domhnall Pinici, Senior Ispettore, grunted his agreement. An assassination attempt with a high level of concealment... and a very conspicuous kill method. It just didn't add up. And all this for a girl from the slum-docks? Where was the motive?

It went without saying that someone had been trying to kill her. You didn't see those kind of wounds from accidents; it was a high energy, non-magical burn, and focused too. Those just didn't _happen_ on the pedestrian boulevards; what would even be there to cause them?

Friederike leaned her head back. "What about the strike angle?"

"I have Diarmuid working on it." Domhnall said, looking down at the bulky black box shape on his forearm. "Diarmuid?"

[**Sea, mo Rí?**]

"How's the trajectory assessment coming?"

[**Tá siad fós ar siúl, mo Rí.**]

"Very good. Notify me when they're complete. And request a warrant for information on the Veneti family."

[**Mar is mian leat, mo Rí.**]

"It usually doesn't take him that long." Friederike observed neutrally.

"Mhn." The tired man sighed. Waiting around here wouldn't solve anything; they'd have better luck returning to the station and utilising the resources there. There was just one thing left he had to do.

"Diarmuid, petition Director Pascal to have Renza Veneti placed under the Witness Protection Program."

[**Sea, mo Rí. However, be advised; all positions under the WPP are filled.**]

"Try anyway." He ordered.

[**Sea, mo Rí.**]

They were obliged to at least try. Friederike watched the device sadly, already used to this situation.

However strange the scenario, an attacked slum-dock girl just _wasn't_ going to get the Judiciary's attention beyond the obligatory glance that had send them her way. The odd complications they'd noted already just made it more likely to be dropped because it wasn't worth the resources. The Judiciary had bigger problems, after all.

Domhnall tapped the dashboard, feeling old. "Let's head back."

Friederike nodded, putting their barca in gear and feeling the hover engines whirr into life as the control circuit switched from the dock's power grid to her own magic. It drifted out from the Policlinico Serenità into the waterway, before jutting into life and merging seamlessly into the traffic skimming the Valezorri Canals in the direction of the Judiciary District.

Neither noticed their passenger, sitting in the back seat, tail aswishing.

* * *

"Maaan, Ranza, you really get all the fun!"

"Eh-eheh..."

Odette Camarr sighed to herself as she walked into the hospital room. Samara was already there, as she'd heard from out in the hallway, monopolising their classmate's head in a game of noogie, blue and black hair flying everywhere in her enthusiasm.

"Give her a rest Sam; she's had a hard time."

Samara Le Bien pouted, vibrant black hair dangling around her captive's nose, and stuck out her tongue, cuddling Renza's head closer. The smaller girl seemed used to it though, putting up with her friend's affections and smiling pleasantly at her arrival.

Odette placed her bouquet of flowers (blue carmillions; symbols of good health) into the vase provided, half full of similar contributions already. Samara moved aside to let them exchange kisses on each cheek before they pulled back, Odette examining her bed-ridden school friend with a critical eye.

"...You really are recovering fine." She observed, surprised.

Renza giggled, a tiny 'ehehe'. "I told you, Odi, I'm okay. They're letting me out tomorrow."

"Eh?!" Samara gasped, leaning almost entirely over the bed (almost knocking Odette out of the way) to stare Renza right in the eyes. "That's fast!"

Odette, standing back, shook her head with secret relief. "I guess it wasn't that serious then."

Renza grinned merrily at the both of them. "Nope!"

The mood in the room relaxed, and Odette flopped (elegantly) into a nearby seat, flicking her braided ponytail over the back before it got trapped. Procuring a clementine from her pocket, she began to peel it with familiar motions, her device generating a miniature green knife-laser for the purpose. Samara giggled, neatening out her friend's hair in return for tussling it up before.

"Ren, did you get my notes on class?"

Renza nodded. "Mhm. I'm all caught up."

Odi smiled serenely, pulling out a sliver of fruit and feeding it to Samara, who leaned over to bite it out of her hand. "Well that's certainly reassuring. You should keep up with your classwork whilst you're in hospital after all."

She tilted her head to watch Renza with one eye. "Now... why don't you tell us what you were doing deep in the Economic District during _lunch break_."

Renza winced.

Samara nodded enthusiastically, hair bouncing everywhere, eyes pinning Renza to her bed as she made what she doubtlessly considered a stern expression. "Mmphm!" She ordered through a mouthful of orange. "Telffus! Tefffus!" Swallowed. "Tell us!"

"Eheh..." Renza began, arms raised in a placating gesture. "I was... heading to the Basilica..."

Odette sighed wearily; having expected something like that. "Renza..."

Samara huffed, crossing her arms. "You religious types!"

"W-What? It's a really pretty cathedral!"

Odette rubbed her temples. "Renza, the Basilica is hours away."

"I took a comune!"

The public barcas, part of Valezorro's renowned public transport network. Still failed to explain _why_ by the Saint's measure she'd felt the need for it. Odette frowned.

"Even so, you'd only get a few minutes at most!"

Renza gripped her sheets, looking away. "I know that... I really wanted to see it, that time."

...Odette sighed. She had to give in, with that expression. "Sorry. I didn't realise it meant that much to you."

Samara melted immediately, patting her on the head. "Yeah, yeah, you never seemed much of a believer before."

Renza chuckled nervously, playing with her hair. "It's... kindof a recent thing..."

Odette smiled. "Tell us about it sometime." She set the peeled clementine on a plate by the bedside. "Come on, Samara."

"You're leaving?"

Her eyebrow quirked as Samara hopped off the bed. "_Some of us_ have school to get back to. Rest well, won't you?"

Renza nodded, and they waved goodbye as they left the room.

Out in the corridor, Samara ran her hand through her hair.

"...That girl's a terrible liar."

Odette sighed. "You noticed too, huh?"

* * *

Valezorro from on high really was a beautiful city. White and blue buildings rose like ancient columns from the tended waterways, circled by sleek white barca, skimming along the water surfaces or even flying if their pilot had a high enough Mage Rank. Birds flocked and swung in the early breeze. Every once in a while, a flying figure could be spotted; in deference to its unique transportation requirements, the usual restrictions on flying mages in TSAB-aligned cities were waived within Valezorro's limits. Bathed in the morning sun that hung dull, heavy and red on the skyline, it looked as if the whole world were made of clay, shining in reds, oranges and gold.

Nestled amongst the towers of the Governance District, Renza Veneti, in full Puella costume, hair flapping out ahead of her, sat atop a white communications spire, the small maintenance platform serving as an impromptu seat. Deep down below, the city swirled and breathed beneath, out and beyond, from the centre of Governance all the way out to the Residential fringe.

Out from Governance's modern towerblocks of reflective glass and white steel, the Industrial District sprawled away in a maze of colossal iron pipes and smokestacks half-hidden in smog, connected by hedgerows of girders and walkways. Economic hung nearby, built like Governance but with more flair, corporate logos and colours proudly on display, bright and gaudy even from Renza's lofty viewpoint. Judiciary and Commercial were still in the old style; white Valezian stone and mortar, built lower and squatter than their modern cohorts, but with far more grace, a grand collaboration of towers, arches and domes that reeked of age and pride. Some large shape dropped down over her head, the spire shivering in its wake; a transorbital coming down to land at the spaceport behind her. It didn't hold her attention.

Random buildings stood out from the sprawl; landmarks she knew. Close by, the towers and spires of the Basilica Vaillieu, home of the Saint's Faith, dedicated to the Sankt Kaiser Olivie, standing tall and proud as it had every right to. The Policlinico Serenità, which she was getting depressingly familiar with, sat a little further away; a large, round, domed structure twice the size of a stadium, built in the old Valezian stone, wearing the age of the institution as a badge of pride, though its inside were completely modern technologically. The Basso Trari upper secondary school, yet another 'old style' building, rose up on her opposite side in a large, ornate triangle surrounded by its own leafy non-native gardens.

And of course, what she was looking for, far, far away, far at the very edge of the city where the shining whites turned to drabber greys just before they met the glimmering sea, out in the far distant slum-docks of the Residential districts...

...Well, it wasn't actually visible from here. But somewhere down there was home.

The distance felt appropriate.

"...Was it right," she asked the air, hugging her knees close, "saying all that?"

"_I can offer no judgements. But secrecy is definitely the best course of action."_

The voice was from nowhere, but she knew the Kyubey was sitting by her side.

"It's tiring, having to lie all the time." She said, picking at the wire meshing subconsciously. "If I'm doing good, why can't I tell people?"

The Kyubey made a little telepathic sigh, one of its odder habits. _"We Incubators have experimented with it in the past. It has never ended well for anyone involved. If you wish, the memories of those involved can be altered. They would not ask any further questions."_

Renza blinked. "Why would you...?"

"_The Ispettore you met before have too much information; it's extremely likely they will cause trouble if their investigation proceeds. I called in a telepath to clean up the situation; erasing the memories of your companions at the same would not be difficult."_

"N-No!" She shouted, breaking out of her knee-hug. The very idea of having someone poke around in her father's...

"_No!_ I can't do that to them!"

The Kyubey failed to react. Looking down, she found it was indifferently grooming its ear flaps. _"You wouldn't be. She'll be arriving in one week. Please make your decision before then."_

"I-I've already made it! It's done! _Finito!"_

The creature did not shrug, releasing its ear to gaze back upon the sea, nothing but a static smile on its face._ "It doesn't really affect me. The opportunity will always be there until she leaves, in any case."_

Renza shuddered.

"...What about the daemons? Were there any more whilst I was out?"

"_None that I was aware of. I stored the grief cubes from the battle in a secure location. We can collect them at your convenience."_

Renza nodded. "Let's do that now then." Her soul gem wasn't exactly going to get any lighter waiting.

Without it needing to be said, the Incubator scampered up to perch neatly on her shoulder, tiny paws gripping tightly in preparation for-

She stepped forward and dropped, and Valezorro rushed up to meet them.

* * *

The Incubator lead her on a winding path, taking advantage of her mobility as a Puella Magi to weave a confusing trail through the bars and girders of the Industrial district. The air was thicker here, building a rusty-red haze from the morning sun, burning more exotic colours the closer they got to the smokestacks that stabbed up like trees in a forest through the metal undergrowth, the entire place vibrant and humming with indeterminable activity.

Renza followed the Incubator's guidance, moving blindly through the maze as it instructed, speech-telepathy temporarily abandoned in favour of simply transferring directions visually. She leapt and ran from walkway to walkway to pipe to pipe until they came upon a rusted, abandoned warehouse suspended high above the lashing waves, known only by their sound as they crashed against the supports far below.

The thickness of the air was deadening any sounds they made. Even the waves sounded empty and hollow up here.

Lost and forgotten, the harsh, acidic atmosphere of the Industrial District had been far from kind. The moulding flakboard that had once made up the warehouse's roof served to give away its age; newer post-TSAB building regulations would never allow it; even the pre-Alliance laws would probably have frowned on its use out here. Under the harsh red haze, the boards had softened and melted, dripping down slowly over the centuries to build a noxious, stinking carpet of filth that seeped into everything. Vague shapes of tortured industrial equipment and dilapidated storage crates stood out in the gloom. The whole thing felt like it was made of wet paper, hanging on a thread above the waves below.

They entered with no hesitation.

The Industrial District was... common, as a place for her patrols. With the haze, deadened noise and reduced visibility, it was a natural location for crime and suicides, and hence a vibrant breeding ground for daemons. A man could walk in, deactivate his Jacket and dive, and be dead long before the paramedics could arrive. Even civilian jackets could counter the corrosive air, but it was still a sticking point with the Time-Space Administration Bureau out in the wider Dimensional Sea. Governance was working on it now the greater ecological disasters had been resolved but... well, Caglica was only an Allied world for a reason. The Judiciary maintained a security cordon but they were laughably easy to get past, at least from Renza's perspective. All the sensors were on ground level.

In her 'Puella mode', as she thought of it, she had none of the features or protections of her civilian Jacket, but she didn't seem to need them. Immunity to asphyxiation, amongst other things, was yet another perk of the contract.

"_Through here."_

The Incubator directed her to a small side room, where a metal false ceiling, now severely rusted, had managed to protect the rest of the room from the stagnant mush. A small cubicle office, by the looks of it; mouldy paper and an almost completely disintegrated work chair sat at an ancient desk being the biggest giveaways. The Incubator directed her attention to one of the drawers, which pulled out freely, leaving her grateful that the desk, at least, seemed to be made of sterner stuff.

Within, nestled amongst degraded wire-bound files and acidified trash, eight black cubes sat, radiating a faint but palpable sense of grief. Blacker than seemed wholly natural, the cubes, currently inert, seemed to stand out against in the smoky gloom even as Renza thought they should fit in. She scooped them up in both hands, trying to collect as little grit on her fingers as possible.

"Was this really the best place to keep them?" She asked Kyubey.

"_This location is too difficult to access, too distant from civilisation and too dilapidated to be of use to ordinary humans." _It answered calmly._ "It's too far removed for the cubes to feed and regenerate. It's the safest place for them."_

She rather doubted that last point, but still, she could see its logic. If left alone, the grief cubes would, as per their title, draw in and amplify the ambient disorder and discontent of those around them, leading them to respawn the daemons they contained; obviously something that just served to make things worse. If left unchecked, the levels of grief could spiral and reach heights so high they formed a barrier and entirely new daemons would start to spawn, upon which things could get very rapidly out of hand.

It was her duty, as a Puella Magi, to prevent that.

Torn for a moment between leaving this horrible place and difficulty of doing so with a fistful of grief cubes, she eventually decided to just detransform, setting her gem upon the desk and laying the grief cubes around it, ignoring the dull return of residual pain in her thigh.

Coral blue, just like her hair and the rest of her outfit, the small egg-sized gem glowed as little trails of grief peeled away into the cubes, making the gem shine visibly brighter by the second. She watched, arms folded and favouring her good leg as the taint she incurred from the battle drained away, like a heavy weight lifting from her shoulders. Paradoxically, the air felt fresh again, and soon even her ruined surroundings couldn't keep her spirit down, despite the seriousness of the situation.

When her gem finished draining - shining a point of brilliant, glorious blue alone in the haze of red - she cradled it in her hands and transformed back again, the gem exploding into motes of light that re-condensed at the base of her neck. The throb in her leg faded entirely.

The cubes, hard to look at now and radiating a truly dangerous sense of malevolence, were not much a concern. The Kyubey had already jumped up on the desk and begun flicking the cubes one by one into an organic 'hatch' that appeared from the teardrop marking on its back, going at its task in a way that Renza really, really wanted to describe as 'merrily' even though she knew better. It had disturbed her the first time she'd seen it, but felt familiar now. Reassuring, even; now this way the cubes couldn't harm anyone.

For a second, Renza wondered by just what Kaiser the little Kyubey had managed to even get them up here, but discarded the thought just as quickly. They were Incubators; some things were just better not to ask.

"All done?" She asked, as it finished the last one off with a little 'kyip!'

It answered by darting back up onto her shoulder, Renza almost protested before realising it had left no prints in the dust. Sure enough, a quick check proved there were no marks from it scampering up her costume. Well wasn't that convenient.

"_Certainly. You gathered a profit from that engagement; good work."_

She nodded, smiling. She'd found, through experience, that if she took out as many as possible in her opening strike she could focus more magic on the remainders; the cubes harvested from her opening salvo making up for the deficit in dealing with the survivors. She was getting there, slowly.

"Then, lets head back."

"_As you wish."_

* * *

At the Evidence Table, things were rapidly turning sour.

"...This still makes no sense." _Ispettore_ Domhnall muttered, sipping a caff that had long grown cold and bitter since he'd snatched it from the cafeteria several hours ago. At the opposite end, Friederike slumped, tapping her temple with her black glove-Device, dredging her brain to try and find some fresh, new angle they hadn't looked at already.

Between them, a matte black box - Diarmuid - rested, projecting pictures and information across the desk. Normally, the Evidence Table itself would handle that but Diarmuid, being an Investigative Device, had better functionality. A cable linked the two, connecting it to the _Judicia_ _Polizern's_ databases, as well as providing additional power.

On display was a map and overlaid 3D model of their crime scene, the Polincia Boulevard, with camera stills and markers hovering above the relevant points, all in all serving to build a complete picture of collected data, evidence and events, in turn theoretically serving to build a picture of...

Domnhall frowned.

A picture of _what_, exactly? They'd been at it for three days, processing witness statements and waiting on lab analyses, but the whole thing remained stubbornly nonsensical; a jigsaw puzzle with half its pieces missing.

The collapsed office workers were proving, increasingly, a non-starter. Each one had a completely valid reason for heading up to the roof of the building, and each one had no memory of what happened when they got there, only that they woke up later with a schoolgirl bleeding out from the leg. They called the emergency services, the Judiciary and the Medical Rescue Service swooped in, and the rest was pretty much history.

There was no medical explanation for their collapse, no anomaly present on the rooftop and no foreign mana to trace. They were a dead end. The only major hint that could be gleaned from them was the lack of recording from their civ-Devices. They'd gone dead as soon as they reached the rooftop, coming back online only when their owners reawoke. That left a considerable hole in terms of concrete evidence they could _use..._ leaving only the mystery of the girl.

According to Veneti's testimony, she had been attacked on the Boulevard, not on the roof. The evidence at least bore out the second part. It was a clear puncture wound caused by something extremely hot ramming cleanly through muscle and bone; the only bloodstains they'd found was the pool caused by the victim's leg bleeding out, not by it getting hit in the first place. A wound like that should leave some very explosive splatter marks, but they'd yet to find a single drop. On the roof or the Boulevard.

What was more was the placement of the whole thing. On the street-level cameras - private owned security feeds, which again had taken some time to get hold of - Veneti walked out of screen on one, never appeared on the other. That gave them a predictable area in which the crime took place; the blind spot between the two security cameras, a small wedge-shaped area highlighted in blue on their map.

From the wound profile, they knew the girl had been hit from behind, from a low point of origin. They also knew roughly where she was standing and what direction she was headed when she want off camera; just walking down the centre of the Boulevard. A white dotted line plotted out the extrapolated path from where she left the first camera and should have reappeared on the next had she continued on her course. Only... for that to be true, whatever struck her should have appeared on both cameras; first as it came to strike her from behind, second as it continued straight through the other side as it had to have done with that kind of injury.

Simply put, their records showed neither. The obvious answer was that she had turned before being hit, and that too had taken place entirely off camera; a trail of events that invoked the word 'coincidentally' far too often for either Ispettore's liking. The possible combination of angles for this to take place were extremely limited... and had no evidence to back them up either. Given the low firing angle, whatever did it must have been sitting on the street; there were no windows nor alleyways to attack from which, quite apart from the sheer idiocy of such a plan, begged the question of _how_ Veneti had failed to see it in the first place and, for an assassination attempt of this level of sophistication, how it had failed to score a fatal hit at such short range. Why they hadn't simply shot her again had potential answers; the energy device could have a single shot disposable. But then why waste such a thing on a schoolgirl? The mafias couldn't afford to throw that kind of kit away on... well, a slum girl.

And the Devices, too. Like the office workers, Veneti's device failed shortly after she went off-screen. Veneti; the office workers; the amazing sophistication in keeping the whole act hidden and the amazing ineptitude and pointlessness of the act itself. His thoughts whirled around in his head in a fool's spiral; going nowhere and crashing into each other with contradictory information.

...None of this made sense.

He sipped. It didn't help any.

"Who would be stupid enough" he whispered rhetorically, "to put an energy weapon out in broad daylight to kill a schoolgirl, then be incompetent enough to _miss?_"

Friederike looked up as an alert blinked on her glove-Device. "Ah, that information warrant came though."

"Oh? Let's have it then."

The Junior Ispetorre rapped her knuckles gently on the top of Diarmuid's blank surface, a soft green glow on the glove's part the only indication of a data transfer.

Windows, images and scrolls of text popped up around them, the 3D simulcra of the Polincia Boulevard shrinking itself into a corner to stay out of the way. Chief amongst them was the Department of Health and Record's file on the Veneti girl; Domhnall pulled that over first with a mental command.

He sighed, rubbing at his stubble, and looked at the ID photograph of Renza Veneti hanging in the air before him. Most of the file was nothing new; just an ordinary 14 year-old from the slumdocks, the only mildly interesting thing about her the blue hair that spoke of some distant Al-Hazerdian contaminants in her genetic history. She wasn't even a powerful mage, just an E-Ranker, a regular civilian who could support a Jacket and not much else. Studied Belkan history. Kept the Saint's Faith dutifully. Nothing stand-out or exceptional.

He skimmed through what they had quickly; after the bio it was mostly just school records and attendance - odd number of hospital visits these past three months he noted; might mean trouble - before it went on to family history-

He flinched. "Wait. Take a look at her parents."

Friederike, disturbed by his reaction, pulled up her own display - Diarmuid had granted her access rights for convenience's sake - and skimmed it herself.

"Sole guardian Ciardo Veneti, biological father; C-Rank mage, Myedoan style; dock worker. full time, Pasodine Shipyards." The Belkan read aloud. "No surviving extended family, shoplifting charge when he was 13, no further criminal record. Small hut on the waterline..." she frowned, reading the address, "that's _Tosca_ territory, isn't it."

Domhnall nodded.

"Think he missed a protection payment?"

"Keep reading."

"Mother died in childbirth... Jeanne Delgado?" She pulled back, trying to pull the thread of information at the back of her mind. _"Delgado."_ She tapped the table. "That name... where have I..."

"The Economic District." Domhnall supplied, watching Friederike's eyes widen as the connection snapped into place.

"_That_ Delgado? The conglomerate from Castilla? With the villa?"

He nodded, bouncing mental commands to Diarmuid whilst switching and scrolling datascreens. "The same one. I just checked the family tree; Jeanne Delgado was the 16th in line as heir. Even Renza Veneti is listed, down in the hundreds."

"...Kaisers."

"Yeah."

Friederike stared at the display in a whole new light. "...and they live in _Tosca_ territory. Saint's mercy..."

The Tosca. The Valezian Mob. Calling it a 'Mafia' implied too much class. Alongside the more mercenary _Cosa Nostra_, they were the biggest thorn in the Judiciary's side; part of what the organisation had been formed to break up in the first place.

Valezorro had a... complicated cultural history. Founded by the _Valezi_, the original settlers from Al-Hazard that had terraformed Caglica and built Valezorro upwards and outwards from its collection of island chains back in the ancient era, it had just been another island-city, like the neighbouring Castilla and Chaomin; Domhnall's own hometown. Throughout most of Caglican history it remained fairly isolated; just another link in the equatorial chain; developing its own culture and dialect like they all did, holding even throughout the Dawn States era that put the planet under Galean control.

And then the Warring States era happened, and some idiot detonated an ice cap.

Immigrants and refugees flooded everywhere. The Saint's Church practically had to form their own _de facto_ governments just to organise the relief effort; the early starting point for the now separate Calgican Governance. The TSAB arriving - something he still remembered, being ten at the time - was like a gift from the Kaisers themselves. Once the Ocean Crisis was resolved, Caglica could finally make the effort to modernise, leading to cities like Valezorro becoming even more multicultural with the rise of global transportation. And all that in a very condensed period of time, leaving some people with extremely ruffled feathers.

Increasingly, elements of the unemployed and working classes had begun to form groups. Accusing all non-Valezi of stealing jobs and destroying their culture, the Tosca took to its self-appointed task of keeping Valezorro 'clean' with batons, protection rackets and nail bombs, and with a disturbing amount of support amongst the slum-docks and the unemployed.

And if this girl was a bastard from a powerful Castillan clan...

"...We have a racial motivation." Friederike concluded, having followed the same trail of logic. "Fuck."

Domhnall nodded. That had been pretty much his reaction. Not killing her made a little more sense in that light, at least, as well as going through all that trouble to pull it off. Nothing explained the office workers, but Diarmuid was running background checks as they spoke...

"You think they're sending a message to the Delgado?" Friederike asked.

"It seems the most likely option. I'll contact the Director; it looks like we'll need to flush out some rats..."

* * *

Ciardo Veneti drank. He drank so as to not think, to not worry about his injured daughter, so small in her hospital bed, his precious last piece of _her_, to not think of the medical bills that would rise even with the blessing of the Saint's Charity, to not think of his paycheck and how thin it would have to spread.

He drank to not think about the man opposite him.

"And the _Judi_ seem to think we're responsible; white-washed traitors." The man spat, greasy blue hair wild and rough. "You've paid your protection money, good and loyal. Those Delgado bastards are probably trying to sweep up their trash, _quei figli di puttana_."

Ciardo choked. "Don't..."

"_Si, si_." The man waved him off. Every motion of his felt like a pulled spring; tense with anger, passion and a bitter, blinded rage that was held at bay, just for the moment. "Your daughter's no trash; is good girl. Probably good mother too. Those _Castilli_ bastards won't care. Don't want a _Valezi_ dirtying up their precious pictures, no? Probably sent the _Judi_ up on us, miserable fucks."

Ciardo didn't think. Just nodded.

"You've always been right by us, Ciar." The man patted him on the shoulder. "You've always been loyal. We take care of our own."

The man pulled him close, made him see the fire and vengeance in his eyes and Ciardo desperately, desperately did not think. "We'll look after your daughter, _camerata_."

"The _Tosca_ swears on that."


	3. Chapter 2

**Ragazza Magica Renza Veneti**

**Chapter Two**

* * *

The gentle morning breeze wafted lazily through the bola's windows, carrying with it the salty tint of the sea and the crisp frizzle of grilled fish from the neighbouring huts_._ Renza shifted lazily on her pile of blankets; the smell breaking her out of her dream state; her Jacket in a simple nightwear configuration to keep her warm. Then the Device on her wrist began to ping, and all hopes of sleep blew out with the morning breeze. She drifted awake, bleary eyes opening to processing the scene.

Hung opposite, her father snored in the colossal hammock hanging end to end. Made of an old ship's sail, she'd been told. Expensive stuff. One trunk-like arm dangled out to drag dust-trails on the hard stone floor. Even across the room, the man smelt cheaply of alcohol; his Jacket was still in its work configuration.

He never went out drinking like that, except when he was worried.

Renza sat up, already weary. The Kyubey's words still rattled inside her head.

"_She'll be arriving in one week. Please make your decision before then."_

He was worried about her, she knew. Editing his memories would certainly ease his pain. But she couldn't change being a Puella Magi; injuries had to be accepted as a fact of life. And with her wish...

Well, this was the best things could be.

Shaking her head to clear the traitorous thoughts and the last of the morning cobwebs, she rose. In an older time, she would have had to stagger, bleary eyed, to make her way to the communal shower, probably knocking her father awake in the process, but that was then.

This was now.

Silently and carefully, she padded barefoot under the massive hammock (her Jacket's fields protected her feet and softened the noise), mindful of the old man's need to sleep after a night like that. She took quick stock of the floor, spotted her bookbag, and managed to drag it out, completely silent, beneath the softly swaying hammock, manoeuvring it carefully past his dragging arm and into the light.

Puella perks, she supposed. They made mornings actually habitable. Setting it at the open doorway so she could find it later, she took quick inventory of the rest of the bola.

Windows; literally just holes in the wall, were set in each of the four walls, with the ocean to the door and the spires of Governance to the rear. The bola made for a haphazard, shamble of a mess in terms of organisation; her father's gigantic hammock took up most of the space, though he would take it down for washing once he awoke. Surrounding that in their one room of a house were all the things one needed for living; at the moment though Renza's main interest lay in the 'larder'; frozen racks of plain, greasy, paper-wrapped slabs; long and thin, tapering at both ends.

Fish, in other words.

She pulled out one of the smaller ones, defrosted it with the aid of her Device, and pulled a pair of knives down from their hooks on the wall. Filletting it expertly, she threw the skins, head and bone into the cold shill, intending to boil them for stock later. The knives went into the sink.

Outside was bright and orange, and the wafting smell of morning risers with similar plans met her immediately. The grill pad was out in the open, under a tarp shelter in the wall for the rainy days. Her Device plugged into the side, her linker core took a sudden _tug_ and up it went, orange and steaming. The fillets slapped down with a sizzle. A scattering of common herbs finished things off; they only took a few minutes.

Once they were nice and steaming, she unplugged her Device and wrapped it back around her wrist. It was a simple, Governance-issued civilian thing, built mostly for children with 'survive the school of hard knocks' in mind. Kabupatenic, apparently, for all your chosen style of magic really mattered when you were an E-Rank, but their style of Devices had a reputation for being extremely hardy and difficult to damage, so she couldn't complain. With her father a Myedoan C-Rank, they could get away with having almost all the tools in the bola mana-operated.

Which was good, because mana was _free_.

She couldn't do or run everything in the bola herself; she just didn't have the reserves; but her father could, and in fact did; handling most of the tools whilst Renza saved her limited linker pool for when she needed it. It worked out fairly well, all told, and certainly saved them an awful lot of money they had no hope to spare. Governance didn't provide electricity out here; too expensive with all the safety requirements the water required. Flipping the fish with a pair of twisted sticks, she looked around to see who else was out this morning.

Their bola was literally on the coastline, for as long as it took for it to expand again. A white-grey dried mud patty covering over a combination of scaffolding, provided by the Saint Church, and as many long sticks and supports the original builders could find, built square and squat, surrounded by a walkway of the same construction and kept above the water on high, high stilts. She hadn't been alive to see it constructed. Somewhere underneath their boat - a small, ancient watercutter - hung suspended on ropes. Hollow steps in the wall of bola, gouged out of the mud-plaster and well worn with use, lead up to the flat, open roof, which had a tent cover they could put up for rainy days, effectively turning it into a second storey.

Out and about in their fellow bola (connected in an open maze of planks and walkways; no two were ever quite on the same level; all the slum-docks were a confused, colourful maze), the neighbourhood was waking up, greeting the morning, some taking the Saint's Prayer, others cooking, like her. The smell of grilling fish and the rising rancour of far-too-energetic children filled the air. She waved to their nearest neighbours, the twin sticks held in her mouth whilst she gathered plates from their storage crate.

A low, brassy groan came from the back of the bola, and a pair of heavy footfalls faintly shook the grill pad on its stilts. Her father was up. Good timing.

"_Buenavassi, ma padre."_

She held out a plate of grilled fish. Her father stood blearily, stooped in the doorway, before finally cracking into a soft smile.

"_Buenavessera, mia belle."_

The man sat down with a creak of the ancient flakboarding, taking the plate and one of the twisted sticks when offered. He inhaled the sea air and aromas with a deep, rumbling breath, looking out across the sea. Renza was already picking through hers; scooping fish up in the twists with deft movements.

For a few moments, they just ate, watching the birds. There were ships, of course (it was Valezorro; there were always ships), but the birds were more relaxing.

"Will you be safe on your way to school, _belle?_" He asked, voice rumbling and quiet.

"_Si, padre." _She said, focusing on her plate.

"I don't want you travelling alone for a while, understand?"

"It's alright; I'll be meeting Sam at the showers."

"Le Bien? Nn. Look out for yourself."

"_Si;_ don't worry, _padre."_

"I'll always worry."

She patted his giant arm.

"I'll be alright, _padre_. I'm healing up fine."

Her father turned, horrified. "_Mia belle_, you were _attacked_..."

Renza grimaced. "You don't know that! The Ispettore are investigating it-"

"Renza..." the man breathed, hoarse. "Take this seriously! It's your _life_. Don't go risking it!"

She swallowed. Setting down her empty plate, she stood and enveloped his trunk of a neck in as tight a hug as she could manage.

It was only when he sat down she could even reach his head.

"I _am, padre_. It's okay. It was just an accident, and I'm fine! You're worrying yourself too much!"

The man rumbled, but relented in her arms, the sagging release actually lowering his shoulders a few centimeteres. She ran fingers through his tangled, coare flint hair, pushing her head into his craggy, wheatherbeaten shoulder.

"It'll be okay, _padre_. Trust me."

* * *

The 'showers' were less a communal shower, more a water purifier connected directly to the oceans sloshing below with a bunch of taps and piping bolted on, hidden behind masses of plasterwork and tiles. The Caglican Governance had always invested greatly in its water treatment services; with the aid of the Saint Church, they were readily available as a public good. Each cubicle essentially just a spout mounted high in the wall, set in a private alcove covered with a thick weaved curtain for privacy. Too high for her to actually reach, but the systems were mana activated anyway. Useless if you were one of the few unlucky ones with no mage rank at all, but cheaper, and even an E-Rank like her could use it. And faith, people could always ask; it wasn't like they were ever empty.

Though Jackets served as highly responsive day-to-day wear, it was still recommended people have something physical on underneath, should the worst happen. It wouldn't show through whatever you set the Jacket to, so general consensus was either something practical and warm or something that would stand out in an emergency - or of course both. It wasn't mandatory, just very, very strongly encouraged. They could save your life, so the pamphlets said.

More cynically, she knew, they helped EMTs identify the dead and critically injured at a scene.

In Renza's case it was a pair of Governance-issued, Saint's Church produced survival trousers and a thick, heavy overcoat, both bright orange and baggy in that 'one size fits most people' way, with reflective bands strategically placed so that most of them would be catching the light at any one time. It looked completely hideous and stuck out like a sore thumb, but then that was the point. After deactivating her Jacket, she had to fight her way out of that too so she could actually shower.

She stepped out again five minutes later running a rag through her hair, Jacket back on in its uniform setting. The rich, regal designs of the Basso Trari upper secondary school uniform - a dark, olive-green blazer and skirt combination - looked horrifically out of place amongst the drab whites and dusty curtains of the public bath.

Another person wearing the same uniform jumped out from the stall behind.

"Morning, Ren!"

She turned, smiling already.

"_Buenavassi, _Sam!"

Samara Le Bien grinned, water-slick hair slapping about her face as she took her by the hand.

"Shall we?"

Renza collected her book-bag. "Mhm!"

* * *

A local comune bus ferried them to the Basso Trari's gates, skiffing around between the bola until it had collected most of the other local girls whose parents could gather the coin for their tuition. Too long to travel just by watercutter and _no-one_ owned a barca; comunes like this were funded by the Saint's Church. As was, for that matter, their positions in the Basso Trari itself; part of their fees and supply costs waived on the Saint's Charity in recognition of educational merit; a scholarship, in other words.

Somewhat inevitably, her group was nicknamed the Saint's Children. Opinions varied.

But Renza didn't mind. There was a reason she'd held off her prayer in the morning; they held them here in the Trari instead. Even Samara, who didn't see the point of it all, was still grateful to the Church.

The comune dropped them all off at the Water Gate in the gardens, a few fellow students and staff already waiting. She spotted Odette waiting at the side looking prim and proper... who actually did a double take when she realised it was them under all the drenched hair.

"W-What happened to you two, did you fall over the side?" She asked, fussing at Samara's blazer after helping pull them up onto the dock.

"Yes!" Said Samara immediately, before Renza could stomp her foot.

Odette sighed wearily. "Well... try not to next time; I'll dry you off before _la Sorelle_ find you."

A glowing green triangle formed around the Belkan's hand as she prepared to cast a minor spell, only to be interrupted when Renza raised a hand.

"We didn't actually fall off."

Odette hung her head. "...I'd guessed that. Hold still anyway. _**Sengenden Winde.**_"

Renza obliged, and was met with a warm rush of air blasting across her face, the triangular spell-cast spinning into a circular green-glowing blur. Any remaining water blew away or dissipated, the facial barriers of her Jacket protecting her skin from any potential burns. Odette wasn't putting any power into it anyway.

A low powered combat spell thrown out casually as a hair-dryer. Such were the convenience of C-Rank mage-knight cadets.

The rest of the crowd weren't paying them much attention. Though the comune had a deployable ramp for such purposes already extended (and, in addition, multiple signs stressing the _usage_ of said ramp even the driver was ignoring), somewhere along the lines it had just become tradition to pull up the new arrivals when they reached the Gates.

Probably symbolic, or something.

In either case, the gathering was filled with greetings, consternations, 'how do you do's, friends pulling up friends, the usual hair readjustments necessitated after an open-topped comune ride, the supervising Sorella making sure no-one was swapping their homework, the desperate trying to get away with it anyway...

A usual start for a usual day.

The blast of air cut off and Odette lowered her hand, the spell-cast fading away. The back of her head still felt faintly damp, but Renza was hardly about to complain.

"All done!" Odette said smiling. "Shall we?"

Samara stepped in, head still vaguely resembling a wet mop. "Wait, what about me?"

Odette huffed. _"You_ can go swim the canals you lying girl!"

"Eeeeh?!"

Renza giggled. "Let's go!"

"_Eeeeh?!_"

* * *

The morning service was as usual; the High Sister making typically ordinary faculty announcements before diverging onto social and religious topics. The central lecture theatre was tall and airy, a bright, well lit dome with shafts of sunlight playing in through the high windows. It was actually a little confusing, once you started paying attention to it; for some season, they only ever illuminated the centre stage. Renza, who'd been up there once on Puella business, knew the secret, but wasn't completely sure how she'd ever get away with telling it given there was no ground access. It wasn't _quite_ as simple as holographics...

And yes, that meant the ceiling of the dome could only be cleaned by fliers. Back when the building was constructed, it was an intentional sign of prestige... and now, punishment for misbehaving air cadets. Of which there were five; the teachers doling out extra punishments for them just to keep the thing tidy had become something of a running joke.

Sitting in-between Odette and a freshly scolded (and dried; Odi had relented after a few minutes) Samara, she and the rest of the girls of the Basso Trari's current 9th Year classes sat at attention on the third level of seats ringing the central podium. Not alone; the entire stadium was filled, with the younger classes at the bottom and the elder rising higher.

"...And I hope," spoke the High Sister, closing off her lecture on one of the older Streben-Kaisers, "that all of you will go through with your day with the Mercy of Vollständigkeit in your hearts, and pay due respect in All Things."

The auditorium stood, and bowed, the room echoing with the clamour and thousands of voices reciting in tandem. "_Within one world we are born as stardust, and though worth and improvement, we join Vollständigkeit to be born again as stars._"

A little too far away for it to be visible, the High Sister smiled. "Then get to your lessons, all of you. And have a good day."

They managed to find each other after the shuffle and chaos of filtering out into the side corridors, and made their way to First Session, Samara dancing ahead with unpredictable movements whilst Renza and Odette maintained a steady, refined pace.

"Maan, I'm glad that's over!" Sam exclaimed. "There's so many of those bloodstained oldie farts; how are we supposed to keep track of them all?!"

"When anyone asks," Odette advised saintly, "smile and nod."

"Easy for you to say Miss Belkan Heritage; I can barely pronounce half their names!"

"The Streben are important!" Renza held up a placating hand, trying to stave off a full-blown Samara rant where the Sorella might hear her. "They symbolise a lot of things."

"Oh?" She huffed. "What was this one then?"

Renza replied without missing a beat. "Saxa I, Streben-Kaiser of Explorers. She lead the first Great Expansion of Ancient Belka in 084 P.A. She's commonly associated with exploration and discovery and ships' navigators, particularly on the border worlds."

Samara froze, boggling. "...How do you do that. Seriously."

"She pays attention, Sam." Odette giggled.

Renza shrugged. "The High Sister does a piece on her every year; Saxa's pretty popular amongst educators."

Samara's expression turned suddenly predatory. "Oh _yaaah?_ What's this, little Ren has been hitting the books, has she?"

"Eh-?" Renza asked, missing a step.

"Look at you, racing on ahead without me!" Samara pounced, the walk to class abandoned in favour of attacking her smaller classmate's head. "But I'm not going to let you go that easy!"

"-Uwah!"

With dignity and grace, Odette rubbed her temples and quietly looked out the window. My, she hadn't noticed how nice the weather was today...

"S-Sam, stop it-"

"All that refined language, it's like you're trying to be a princess~!"

Was that a bird?

"S-Samara!"

"Hahaha! But little do you realise, you have no-one to impress but me! For you see, Ren is going to be my wiiii-"

"What a surprise! Two of the Saint's Children, acting like kids and forgetting their manners." A voice cut through, laden with scorn, arrogance and a distinct lack of actual surprise. Odette suppressed a groan. Oh joy, she knew who _that_ had to be-

"Hey!" Samara accused, as Renza fell silent. "What's that supposed to mean?!"

Penne Lovelace sniffed dismissively, her golden curls bouncing with the movement, not even giving them any further attention. Instead, she had turned to Odette.

"Miss Camarr," she began imperiously, "as I have told you before, you should not associate with such common lunacy. I cannot begin to imagine what your parents must think."

"As I can believe," Odette replied, giving a stoic Belkan half-bow, "considering I have their full support."

Also known as 'Fuck You', for the lucky ones that didn't have to speak Rich. Technically true too; her family had met Samara and Renza in person before. Not for very long and Renza did all the talking but still. The twitch in Lovelace's eye was entirely worth it.

The haughty girl huffed, to no-one's surprise, flicking her hair and sweeping on past, clearly finding nothing here worth sparing her attentions upon. Odette watched her leave mostly to avoid looking at the face Samara was pulling. Laughing at a Lovelace's back was a bad idea.

"Um..." Renza began, breaking the silence. "We should probably get to class..."

There was a brief bit of mostly ladylike cursing as the other two checked their chronometers, and began rushing down the hallway.

In an entirely elegant fashion.

* * *

As was tradition amongst all schoolchildren when one of them comes back from hospital, Renza got swamped immediately on her arrival; fellow schoolgirls crowding around her desk despite Samara and Odette's half-hearted attempt at a protective cordon.

"Say say, Veneti, are you really okay?"

"I'm fine!" Renza replied, trying to follow several conversations at once. "It was just an accident-"

Another girl, tall and richer with ambiguously Caglican features looked naïvely horrified. "Y-You mean you weren't attacked by gangs?"

"I- what? No-"

Yet another leaned in over her desk. "Yeah, what even happened anyway; these two won't tell us anything!"

(Odette rolled her eyes.)

"It was an accident! Some people found me so-"

A hand slammed down, two solid rings rattling on the desk surface, leading to an arm, leading to a tall, wiry frame and a face, Castillan, framed with slate hair cut pragmatically short. Renza blinked. The face she knew but the name kept stubbornly out of reach; hiding on the tip of her tongue.

"Ah-"...

Amber eyes watched her with a mix of suspicion, wariness and an odd degree of scorn. The girl leaned forward. Finally, something clicked; Natalie Pincette, another of the Saint's Children. But she lived on the other side of town closer to Castilla what was she-

"Are you sure it's wise, coming all the way out here?" The girl asked softly, commanding silence from the rest of the group.

Renza stared at her in genuine confusion.

"I... what do you mean?"

Natalie held her gaze for a few moments, clearly searching for something in her face. It didn't last long though before she gave an almost inaudible huff and stalked off... just in time, as it turned out, for the Sorella to arrive and start the Session. Renza blinked as the taller girl left, the crowd forced to disperse before anyone else could ask questions.

What had _that_ been about?

She shook her head and tried to concentrate, pulling out her textbook and setting it to the appropriate page.

* * *

The First Session passed as normal - Galean Literature; at the moment the works of Venier the Great. Renza didn't really have time to dwell on the oddities of the morning; Venier at least was genuinely interesting, and his works fun to pick apart even if you'd read them before. By the Second however, her attention began to lag. Advanced Matrices was never her strong suit. E-Rank.

It just didn't come naturally, and she found the concepts hard to grip on, as other things began to swirl from her subconscious.

As the Sorella covered the basics of perspective and isometric projection, Renza set down her stylus, eyes unfocused on the textbook in front of her.

"_This is your life! Don't go risking it!"_

...Things were getting out of hand, weren't they? Daemons. The Puella. Her wish...

It was like trying to balance on an infinite array of tipping boards; like building a house of cards on a rocking boat. If she fought, she would put herself at risk and worry her father; if she did not, all of Valezorro could be in danger. Yet she didn't want to hurt him; _couldn't_ hurt him, if any of this was going to be worth anything. If she focused on her studies, she could exhaust herself and people could die because she wasn't there to save them; if she did not, she could lose her place at the Trari and how could she ever explain _that_?

She'd been holding it back but... it was just getting too big to ignore.

Her life as a Puella and her life as a human being; both were increasingly at odds. How was she supposed to handle all this alone? Her life after this? Exams, getting a job? The future?

And... well, she could die, couldn't she? She'd almost died. That couldn't be ignored, not even before this incident, no matter how hard she tried. She could die and her father would _break_ and...

Her head swam, as the classroom faded away. She managed to catch herself before her head hit her own desk.

Sitting alone in the middle of a class, Renza kept still as the world slipped back into focus. The Sorella, discussing homogenous space. The textbook, displaying the wrong page. Odette, giving her an odd look. Everything felt real; everything felt _here and now_.

Everything here was immediate; she had to concentrate on it.

She picked up her stylus and flicked to the right page. She was a schoolgirl right now; that's how she should behave.

...She needed talk to Roche. Roche always helped.

* * *

They'd sat their barca on the roof of an office block, the Judiciary vehicle temporarily displaying civilian markings. Valezorro didn't have many spaces for air-landings, given the low percentage of drivers that could take advantage of them, but Governance still encouraged their use anyway; it freed up surface-level spots for the lower rankers, and the requirements to make a barca fly in the first place were expected to drop as the technology improved. Neither of them were actually at the point for complete flight, but Friederike had enough power for it in small bursts. That the Judiciary got the latest in barca technology was always a plus.

Domhnall sighed, scanning faces in the crowds with a weary sense of lethargy.

"So what did Director Pascal say?" Friederike asked from the driver's seat.

He shrugged. "Observe and wait, basically."

Friederike, for her part, was lazing on the steering wheel. The person they were observing had gone inside and wasn't expected out for at least a few hours; not particularly inspiring attentiveness in the two Ispettore more used to fieldwork than subject tailing. And, to be frank, upper secondary schools just weren't that interesting.

"That's it?"

"He wants to keep things off the records until we know what's going on. Information security."

Since anyone else tailing the schoolgirl in question would almost certainly be under cover somewhere unless they were a complete idiot, their observation was essentially a waiting game. Wait for Renza Veneti to exit the nest, and see what predators followed her.

Their office block was at the apex of the point formed by the Trari's two landlocked faces. From here, they could watch both Land Gates simultaneously. Best possible position. Still boring. The third and final Gate, on the other side of the building, was the Water Gate, by which they highly doubted anyone would exit by, though Diarmuid was managing a small flock of drones over there anyway. The Trari actually rose up higher than the stubby office block they were sat on, blocking most of Valezorro from view and leaving them with an exciting display of stone, stone and more stone. All the gardens where on the opposite Water face for irrigation purposes.

"Almost lunch break, isn't it?" Friederike asked the air.

Domhnall grunted. "Diarmuid?"

[**Cúig nóiméad agus daichead is seacht soicind, mo Rí**]

"Five minutes." He translated unecessarily.

Friederike sighed. "Think she'll make an appearance?"

"No. The Trari has its own canteen. Given what's happened I'd doubt she'd want to spend her lunch breaks in the city any more."

That had been an odd thing to find out from the staff. As of three months ago, she'd started leaving the premises on most breaks. It wasn't against the rules as long as you weren't late back, but it was still generally frowned on to do it to excess with no good reason, which Miss Veneti seemed to lack.

The more they'd looked, the more 'three months ago' seemed to be cropping up a lot around the Veneti girl. Diarmuid had flagged it almost immediately, of course, but a simple reading of the data in person was enough to make it stand out. As much as he didn't particularly feel need the need to pry into her circumstances, it was just one of those things too obvious for an investigator to miss.

It also felt a little too familiar, but he tried not to dwell on that.

And, well, all the points were just too disparate to really mean anything. There was clear evidence something happened back then, but what it was or what it meant was beyond him. It didn't fit any of the usual profiles for child behaviour - or at least, the kind of behaviour the Judiciary had to pay attention to - so he didn't really know what to make of it. Mercy, maybe she just got a boyfriend; probably a smart one given the jump in her grades. The increased incidence in hospital visits was worrying though; all injuries, never sick. Even her drunkard of a father had noticed that. Almost worth pinging a message to the Church over, but not quite yet. If it _was_ the Tosca, the Churchwouldn't be able to do much anyway.

Lost in his musings, he almost missed it when Diarmuid emitted a tinny little beep. The accompanying telepathic kick was hard enough though.

Friederike stared.

[**Feicim Iníon Veneti, mo Rí****.**]

Over the South Gate, Diarmuid projected a small mental triangle, zooming in to generate its own window, better displaying the features of one Renza Veneti walking out onto the boulevard without a care in the world.

Domhnall stared. "...What."

The moment crashed between them; the sheer _impossible stupidity_ of seeing Renza Veneti leaving the safety of the Basso Trari and walking away like a regular, ordinary pedestrian and not a young bastard heiress being shot at by the mob. She wasn't even watching the streets; she was looking straight ahead, that sort of dream-ish autopilot look, like she had far greater, far more important concerns than being a _Castillan bastard hunted by the mob._

Friederike releasing the land brake kicked things quickly back into gear.

"Drop me off in that alley and I'll tail on foot." He ordered quickly. "Follow her by air and try to get an idea where she's going; use the drones as you need. Diarmuid? Follow her orders. Ping the Order of the Watch for a tapping request on Veneti's Device."

He detached the bulky black box from his forearm and passed it over; Friederike snapping it to her glove-Device with a familiar _clunk._

[**Sea, mo Rí.**] Diarmuid said, after the transfer.

Their barca hummed to life with a squealing whir; Friederike dumping mana into the anti-grav pods to make the car rise and float sideways off the roof, dropping down into the side alley in a carefully controlled descent. Domhnall dropped out of the side as soon as they were low enough, and the barca 'whummed', releasing a faintly audible burst of mana as its pilot kicked the anti-grav into pushing it back up to the sky. He didn't watch it go; Friederike knew what she was doing.

Switching his Jacket over to something inconspicuous, he hustled out of the alleyway onto the boulevard, hoping for a glimpse of blue hair somewhere up ahead.

* * *

"_Going hunting again, Renza?"_

She didn't bother shaking her head, just sent a 'no' back in response. She had no idea where the little Incubator was after all.

"_I'm visiting a friend."_

The response was a non-judgemental telepathic 'hmm'. She wasn't quite sure how that worked.

"_Why, are there more Daemons around?"_

"_None that I am aware of."_

She spotted the shadow of a creature on the rooftop of an opposite building, staring down at- oh wait no that was an actual cat. Running off chasing birds. This time she really did shake her head.

"_Where are you anyway?"_

"_Trailing the Ispettore."_

She blinked, weaving past a man pushing a pram. _"Oh, how's that going?"_

"_Problematic. They have split up; one is in their barca, the other is following you on foot."_

She tripped.

"_Wait, they WHAT?!"_

"_They have split up; one is-"_

"_Why didn't you tell me sooner!?"_

She could almost imagine it tilting its head in fake curiosity._ "About what?"_

"_That I'm being followed of course!"_

"_You never asked-"_

Now she wished she knew where it was just so she could _strangle the damn thing._

* * *

Sitting in the back seat of a barca jumping from rooftop to rooftop in short, controlled bursts whilst failing to parse the stream of furious multilingual telepathic cursing passing through its head, the Incubator reflected on how it didn't really understand humans.

* * *

Passing a father pushing his pram, Domhnall played the innocent Chaoim tourist gawking at all the Valezian architecture whilst watching Renza Veneti stumble for a moment. Leg injuries were always a pain.

Of more interest was the pair of stocky men, their Jackets passing them off as delivery workers, who were also walking this road. Compared to Veneti's half-distracted wandering (must have been a telepathic conversation; he really wished those tapping requests went through faster), these two moved with a purposeful but even gait, matching hers perfectly. Friederike had flagged them from the air and Diarmuid had confirmed they were originally sitting in a café until the very moment Veneti appeared.

Sweet Kaisers, were they amateurs. Blue hair screamed 'Valezi' too; he barely needed Diarmuid's background reference check to tell they were Tosca.

_Veneti you really are a complete, inattentive idiot..._

"_Domhn_," Friederike came through on mage telepathy, "_the tapping request came through. We've identified the tails as well; one of them is wanted for questioning regarding a robbery case._"

"_Perfect_," he sent back, "_tie them up._"

"_My pleasure._"

* * *

Barcas landing in the middle of a pedestrian zone were not a common sight. Well, barcas landing in the first place generally wasn't common, given the low ratio of flight-capable barcas to sufficiently powerful mages. Even so, it happened enough on cheap crime dramas for everyone to tell it was a Judiciary intervention before Friederike had even displayed the colours. Somewhere along the line, it had just become social code for _'Hi, you are being stopped by the Policia'_.

That the two deliverymen looked more confused at this than anything else was a curious sign. Interesting; this might actually go peacefully for once.

She kept her glove-Devices on anyway.

"Excuse me, would one of you be Markis DeLamont?"

The obvious answer was 'yes', or they wouldn't have been pulled over, but hey. Politeness.

The man on the right raised his hand, looking a little bewildered. Friederike took pity and offered an easy grin.

"We just need to ask you a few questions about a robbery in your area, if you'd be so kind?"

* * *

Renza watched with the rest of the crowd. Barcas landing in a pedestrian zone always disturbed her; not for the Judiciary thing but that creeping possibility they might one day land _on_ someone.

Sure, it hadn't happened yet, but they'd only started being able to fly in _her_ lifetime and that... wasn't saying a lot. No-one had ever quite expected it. Or, for that matter, fully figured out what to do with it.

"_Kyubey, what's going on?"_

"_I can't say. It appears to be political or otherwise related to law enforcement."_

...Well, fair enough, she couldn't make sense of it either. The poor Incubator probably didn't stand a chance. Was this how the Judiciary normally operated...?

"_...Do you think they want to ask me questions off the record?"_

"_I wouldn't know."_

She watched the barca, now flying the Judicial colours, lift off and start hopping back in the direction of the Judicial District. Part of her wondered how popular the vehicles would be if the ancient Valezians had been fond of slanted roofs.

"_...I guess it was just coincidence then."_

Renza put the event out of her mind, and headed for the nearest café. She had something to do, after all.

* * *

Huh. Domhnall hadn't pegged her as a crepes lover.

He followed anyway.

* * *

One thing she had never known about before was that the Basso Trari kept tabs on its students' devices during school hours. Apparently it was a legal right of educational institutions or else it would have been listed in the student guidebook. Either way, one of the things she'd had to handle after that slightly disastrous battle on the boulevard was the _faculty_ asking about her Device deactivating during the period she'd been in the Barrier.

She'd passed them along to the Ispetorre, of course. Claiming they'd have a better idea than she did.

In truth, she wasn't fully certain what caused that. Certainly, 'Linker Magic', as she'd come to call it, seemed to fail in the Daemon Barriers but the only real source of information on that had been Kyubey, and Kyubey's explanations were always... spotty. Confusing. Daemon Barriers were completely different from the Mid-Childean kind which was rather obvious really, but.

...How had it put it again?

The 'Linker' field of Barrier spells existed to temporarily time-shift everything with a certain magical signature. Under the legislation of the Time and Space Administration Bureau, all magic was strictly non-lethal, and Barriers served to allow high-rank mages to operate to their full potential without fear of collateral damage. It was a Military / Police thing.

She'd never been in one herself. All she'd seen on the TVs was they made everything turn dull and grey. Frankly they looked a little boring; crime dramas always spruced them up a little.

The Barriers Daemons formed however were a completely different matter, primarily on account of them being _completely insane_. Daemon Barriers were something to do with 'creating an environment suitable for Daemons' was how the Incubators described it. Daemons could be spawned from a natural outpouring of grief or despair in the world. Miasma was something similar; the stuff Barriers condensed out of. All Daemons leaked it; it was how they tracked them. Put enough of it together and a Barrier would form and start invisibly distorting the world.

Which formed more Daemons.

Which could rapidly get out of control.

Which is why she had to keep up the patrols, because really Valezorro was just too large for one Magical Girl.

Either way, the Daemon Barriers shut down Linker magic. Which meant Devices failed. The conditions inside them were intended to leave ordinary humans in a confused stupor; easy prey. Only Puella Magi were immune; apparently some could even keep their Linker magic inside them - it depended, as always, on the wish.

Renza had never really paid attention to it. E-Rank. Her Puella transformation disappeared her Device to begin with, which effectively 'deactivated' it for obvious reasons. Only now the faculty were going back through their records and asking a few awkward questions. So she'd had to come up with a way of hiding it when she had to 'go Puella' on school time.

The solution, when she'd hit on it, was rather obvious. Just take the thing off and leave it somewhere clandestine. She wasn't supposed to be able to do that (they normally registered when you took them off, for exactly the same reason she was doing it), but hey. Contract perks.

An indoor café and some duct tape later, and her Device was neatly hidden on the underside of a table. It helped it was only the size of a large watch after all. Then all she had to do was head to the toilets and slip out of the window.

* * *

"_Well, they're in for processing. Management'll probably have to let the second one go; we've nothing to actually book him on."_

Domhnall leaned back in his seat - a creaky wicker thing - pretending to be reading something on a mental Device projection. It was a pretty common expression on tourists looking up maps, day plans or just random curiosities. It also meant the serving staff would wait until he'd 'finished', which made things less confusing when coordinating with Friederike wherever she was in the city.

"_One's enough; it's a starting point. Anything from Diarmuid?"_

"_One second-"_ There was a pause, presumably as Friederike consulted the borrowed Device. Telepathy wasn't audio after all, so it was just silence to him. "_No. Nothing on drones. What about your end?"_

Domhnall sighed.

"_Followed her into a café. Want anything?"_

Fred hmm'd._ "They do any pastries?"_

"_The Belkan kind."_ The Boredom was starting to creep back in again. The rest of the cafe-goers looked completely ordinary, no-one else sat at Renza's table, no-one had followed them in (so far) and equally no-one had followed her into the toilets. Not a lot to go on. _"Look a little average though."_

"_Eh, probably still beat the station cafeteria. I'll take two."_

"_Two it is."_

"_I'll be back about half an hour. Sodding paperwork"_

Domh smirked. _"Don't break the penpushers."_

Friederike laughed bitterly through the connection in a way that made him feel terribly sorry for anyone on the other end. Slumping forward, he dropped the 'look' and waved a hand, signalling the staff. Since Veneti was apparently just taking her lunch break as a lunch break, he couldn't see much point in not getting some himself.

* * *

Vaulting the rooftops of the Commercial District and heading into the centre, Renza took advantage of her natural speed. It was the fastest route and probably the best disguise too; people on the streets wouldn't get much more than a blur and fliers were pretty common around here. She even passed a few who waved hello (probably; kind of hard to tell). Her Puella outfit didn't stand out that much in the world of configurable Jackets and she was travelling too fast to be ID'd; she probably just looked like an off-duty duty air cadet. She kept up her momentum as the heights of the buildings steadily rose; her target never out of sight on the Valezorro skyline.

The Basilica Vaillieu had been built in a cross configuration; the immense central tower - visible from all of Valezorro back in the Dawn States - and four grand halls. Each hall was wide enough to fit in several marketplaces if anyone was willing to try, and long enough to require underpasses being constructed several centuries ago to prevent traffic interruptions; the Office of Transportation and the Saint Church were constantly batting heads about expanding them to accommodate larger modern craft and more lanes for barca. Their steeply pitched roofs, dated all the way back to its original construction, rose up several stories all on their own, meaning the spires on the regular supporting buttresses couldn't be seen on one side from the other.

The target spire in question was not particularly noteworthy. The sixteenth spire from the tower to the end of the Western Hall on the left hand side; it had nothing to set it apart from all the others, just a regular, stone and tile, old-Belkan needle. Whilst the tower was cleaned regularly, the Hall spires were only passed over once a year, mostly to check for structural defects, and on a predictable schedule; there were just too many of them for the Church to realistically do anything more. So far they'd yet to find what it made it special, and she knew when she would need to move it for a few days when the time came. Or maybe they'd see it and leave it be; she wasn't going to risk it finding out.

The spires of the Halls were actually their own miniature towers; an ancient holdover from the Church's early leanings (not many remembered the Basilica used to be a _fortress _and the Church never took pains to remind people). The old shutters had long since been removed and the ways in from the Halls sealed centuries ago, turning what once would have been a hidden sentry post into nothing more than decoration and a nesting place for birds. They'd learnt to avoid this one though; the room smelt cool, clear and dry; more of dust, rain and stone than anything else. She'd run out of the old perfume.

It wasn't much of a shrine, but she knew the one it was dedicated to do wouldn't want anything more.

Renza slipped in silently through the room's only opening; the ancient, worn down viewing slit. The only route to this abandoned sentry hole was either by flight or through reinforced acrobatics that should only be possible to an A- or extremely high B- Rank mage in the first place... or by the application of hook, rope and a whole lot of patience and time. Thus, the Church considered the old watchtowers closed to vagrants; those of the organisation that even knew they were there.

The Church had never heard of Puella Magi.

A small pile of blankets took up one side of the room, cold, ragged and stiff with age. They reached from one end of the room to the other easily; the sentry-hole was a space smaller even than her bola; barely larger than a closet at the Basso Trari. They were still more comfortable to sit on than the stonework floor.

Faded blankets aside, the majority of colour in the space came from the window - where Valezorro continued its hustle and bustle under the golden light of noon - and the small but carefully chosen collection of trinkets. Not too many; their owner never knew when they'd all need to be collected and thrown together into the mass of blankets so she could find a new place to sleep during the day, though maybe they would have increased given the security of this little find.

Taken individually, each one made very little sense.

An old clock - actually mechanical; some old Galean thing made from copper and brass - probably worth a small fortune to collectors if it wasn't so miserably battered and broken. It pointed the time with its hands rather than simply telling you on request, and Renza was pretty sure it was supposed to have two instead of only one, slightly crooked in the middle. It was frozen permanently just past 'IX' and she didn't know how to make it turn itself again.

A small collection of stones and precious metals; rubies mostly, she'd always had a thing for that colour. Earrings, patterned beads, random stones that just caught her eye one day. And then there was the actual jewellery, which _had_ to have been lifted from somewhere. Renza had never asked. These pieces had always been the most transient; most likely to be left behind. Or, for that matter, sold. Puella had to eat, too, and stealing wasn't exactly 100% reliable.

Tassels; strips of cloth dyed red and blue, bearing prayers in Belkan script inked on both sides then wrapped together into a rope hung from the roof on hooks they'd hammered into the ceiling. The Belkan was scratchy, but serviceable, and Renza had had to help with the grammar in places but their prayers were well meant. Requests to Elisabet II, the Streben-Kaiser of Victory, for aid, and - naturally - pleads to the Sankt-Kaiser Olivie, the Mercy of Vollständigkeit, for her wisdom and peace. These had been a relatively new addition; the origin of the ink and strips was plainly obvious. She'd asked Renza to get them after all.

Probably the most plain looking and yet also most memorable was the battered old box - black, probably covered in felt once - taking up an entire corner. It contained a cheap, frankly tacky tea set, the sort the markets hawked to tourists during the summer season, and was a considerable pain to haul around whenever their owner had to move. It had been that girl's favourite possession, and she'd never left it behind. Kaisers, Renza had offered to get her a new one once and she'd been outright _affronted._

The room would have contained more, at one time; mostly food and money; but for now, this was what it was. Apart from a few extra tassels dangling from the ceiling - blacks and whites this time; using the blues and reds just didn't feel right - the only addition was a framed photograph. It sat atop the old black box next to a small silver casket, barely larger than a snuffbox.

The photograph was cheap, but the frame wasn't. She'd had to go through some lengths to get it. To say nothing of the casket; that silver was genuine.

Elbows on knees and chin in hands, Renza sat and gazed at the picture, looking back at the memory frozen in time.

They'd gotten a passing tourist to take it; it'd been hilarious. A wonderful trick. Poor old guy had absolutely no idea what to make of them; one a young girl in Caglican Blue, hair and all, her costume peppered with white lace, grinning and posing for the camera with a undersized zweihander axe that looked too real and gleamed too brightly to be a shrunken down replica of a museum piece; the other taller, with vaguely Castillan features, dressed in blazing yellow; a tomboyish bolero and white cravat over a black undershirt that somehow managed to _work_ despite being patently ridiculous. How that hat had always stayed on Renza never knew; she wished she could have saved the feather. Whilst Renza's axe was smaller than it should have been, the arbalest the yellow girl posed with was almost comically _too large_.

(She summoned smaller ones in day to day life, of course; it had just been funny at the time).

Renza sat, smiling sadly, as the tassels clinked in the faint breeze.

"_Ich hatt' einen Kameraden, einen bessern findst du nit_._"_

She sighed after finishing the prayer.

"Made any stars yet, Roche?"

She shifted uncomfortably on the stiff fabric.

"I'm doing fine; Valezorro's surviving with just me. Kyubey says he might have a few new contracts lined up; I'll try to teach them well. Won't let them do all the dumb things I did back then... I. I... screwed up a bit earlier; if you saw it, you'd probably scold me. There was only fourteen of them and I ended up in the Serenità again; I'm alright now... but I've worried everyone." She giggled. "Kyubey is even having to call in a subcontractor to clean things up. You always said you wanted to meet one!"

Renza slumped down, hugging her knees.

"Odi and Sam are alright; they still remember you, you know. My father's worried though and I'm not... sure how to deal with it. I... I'm brushing it off as best I can and I don't want him to worry but..."

She looked up at the hard, flat picture. The glass frame shone in the afternoon light.

"...this is going to keep happening, isn't it?"

She dropped her head.

"This is going to keep happening, and I'm going to keep worrying them and..."

She shivered.

"I'll a find a way. I can make it somehow, I'm sure. It's what everyone would want after all. It's just... I don't know how... I don't know if I can tell him or..."

She pumped her fist.

"I'll keep fighting though! I will protect this city! I'll keep fighting; I'll get better and I won't get hurt again, you'll see! Kyubey will find some new girls to take the slack, it's just a bit busy right now!"

She laughed.

"So don't worry, Roche. It'll be alright."

Smiling at the picture and silver casket set atop that battered old box, she rose, dusting herself off gracefully. One foot on the watch-step, she paused half-way through squeezing through the view slit; looking back into the room - significantly darker now she blocked most of the sunlight. She smiled at it anyway.

"See you in the stars."

And then she was gone.

* * *

She'd managed to dry her face before she slipped back into the toilets.

* * *

...Something wasn't right about this.

"_Friederike, what's the location on Veneti's Device?"_

"_Still in the café; why?"_

Something he should have spotted earlier, stupid _stupid-_

"_She went straight into the toilets and hasn't come out since. Never even ordered."_

There was a pause, before Friederike's response came back sounding distinctly unnerved. _"She's still in the café according to the tap. Device is still on too."_

Old memories; old tricks. _He shouldn't have forgotten about this_. _"Is it moving?"_

"_...No. One second."_

There was a lull, probably Diar- _"Diarmuid says the signal hasn't moved at all since she entered."_

No-one ever suspects the schoolgirls.

Domhnall stood.

"_Now what?"_

"_Have Diarmuid deploy drones; search the surrounding area. How close are you?"_

"_Two minutes ETA."_

He walked across to the table the Veneti girl had sat at. Still unnocuppied, not that that mattered. A quick glance at the underside revealed a bulky black shape. It pulled away with the rip of packing tape.

"_I have her Device." _He told Friederike. His partner's response was about what he'd expected.

"_**What the fuck**__ is this girl playing at?!"_

"_No idea."_ Probably.

"_You want me to put up a General Order? I can-"_

"_Hold that."_

Renza Veneti stood staring at him in the doorway.

"_She's right here."_


	4. Chapter 3

**Ragazza Magica Renza Veneti  
Chapter Three**

* * *

The wind was biting up here. She'd never really felt it before.

Without her Device, her Jacket could only last a few minutes before disappating - not counting the time in her Puella transformation - and... well, those minutes had passed. E-Ranks... well E-Ranks had their downsides. It wasn't that she had no magic whatsoever (there was another Rank below hers before you reached _that_ point), but even the heavily optimised civillian Jackets were... kind of complex. Definitely the sort of magic you'd need a Device to maintain and handle the constant calculations for.

As it was, Renza sat on a stool on the roof of an old Valezian structure in the Commercial district, the two Judicial Ispettore sat before her on the opposite end of a folding table, wearing only her baggy emergency clothes and shivering beneath the scratchy orange fabric. Jackets did more than provide convient clothing; they also served to regulate temperature and generate barriers against wind and soft impacts; hers were a little sloppy she had to admit but she could feel their absence now_._ The more powerful ones - particularly the Barrier Jackets used by law enforcement, rescue services and construction workers - could be practically impenetrable, even under direct attack, turning a single high-rank mage into a walking (often, flying) bunker.

Without it, she was exposed to all the elements. The sunlight itched faintly on her skin but it was the wind that was _freezing_. Was it normal for an equatorial region to be this cold? Yes, the emergency clothes were warm but...

Plus... well, Jackets weren't actually spun from cloth. They were just mana constructs that happened to look an awful lot like it - or not, as the fashionista desired. The mass-produced fabric on her arms and legs scratched and itched and no amount of uncomfortable shifting made it stop. There were other conveniences too. Like the fact Jackets were always garaunteed to fit. As it was, Renza's hands were practically drowning themselves.

For his part, Domhnall rather wished he'd given the girl her Device back himself, if only to keep the reflective glare out of his eyes. Unfortunately the moment had passed, but at least the awkwardness was proving a point. For an E-Ranker who couldn't support a Jacket unassisted, leaving their Device behind was just the height of stupidity _without_ your life being in danger from the mob. Sooner that fact was cemented the better.

Right now, it was a stalemate. Veneti clearly expected him to start, but he was waiting on her as a matter of professional conduct. She knew why she was here; they'd caught her red handed, and he wasn't about to start potentially leading her. How someone started to explain themselves could give away more than most people knew. Plus... well, he honestly didn't have a clue what the girl had been playing at, so had no opening questions.

Thus, the deadlock.

Freiderike, having finished locking down the barca behind them, flopped into the seat by his side and started chewing loudly on one of the pastries without an ounce of shame. Domhnall stared.

"What?" She asked, aggressively innocent. "You _did_ pay for the things."

_...Belkans_.

She wafted the other one in Veneti's direction. "Want one?"

Veneti took it more on confused politeness than anything else, holding it in both hands and waiting for someone to tell her what was going on. Domhnall sighed.

"You know, falsifying Device readings isn't technically a crime; it's your own property, but you're putting your life at risk if the Rescue Teams can't locate you in an emergency. In your case, it would be an anti-social misdemeanour, or potentially a case for self endangerment." He folded his hands to form a rest for his chin as he studied the girl before him. The collapsible chairs and table they kept in the barca now had proved surpringly useful over past few months.

His eyes watched Veneti carefully. "Both are too minor offences for it to be worth the Judiciary's time and funding. Particularly amongst people your age, we just pass such incidents off to the Church. Where we catch it of course."

Which meant, inevitably, it would get back to the Basso Trari that she'd inconvenienced the two Inspettore managing her own case. According to the Device tap her Jacket was still set to her school uniform. He knew she'd make the connection.

Veneti had made no response; just waiting quietly for him to finish, pastry in hand. He wasn't sure whether to impressed or worried. She still had that startled look in her eye though; probably this was the first time the girl had been seriously pulled over by the Policia. She'd given a similar impression when they'd met in the Serenità. Good sign.

Dohmnall kept going. "Ultimately, however, the matter is at the Ispettore's discretion. We have no official obligation to report it. So please, could you start by explaining what's going on?"

Veneti considered, and nibbled the pastry. Delaying tactic, or she needed time to collect herself. He kept his face neutral. This was always the problem in dealing with kids.

On Renza's side, she was chewing the pastry mostly to keep her hands from shaking. This. This was not something she'd expected. Not something she knew how to deal with. Hospitals, sure. Penne, sure. _Ispettore?_ Roche had known a bit about the Judiciary but that was mostly related to _avoiding_ them not...

"_Kyubey, what do I do?"_

The Incubator sat on the roof of the Ispettore' barca, tail awishing, unnoticed by anyone else.

"_Lie, or tell the truth."_

She blinked at that.

"_...The truth? Really?"_

"_Six days, Renza."_ The creature reminded her casually. _"Then none of this will matter."_

She swallowed. No... that would just complicate things. It was probably a given she was being recorded. The black box on the man's arm had the traditional look of an Investigative Device.

An idea struck her. _"Kyubey, have you seen this sort of thing happen before?"_

"_Naturally."_

"_For the girls in the past; what worked?"_

The Kyubey's head tilted as Renza nibbled. And listened.

Dohmnall observed silently as Veneti finished the pastry, fiddled with her fingers for a few seconds and then slumped onto her hands. Here we go.

"I..." She began, hesitant. "I met a guy."

Domhnall waited.

"It was... three months ago. I... he's a good person! He showed me how to do that with my Device it's just..."

The girl squirmed. He could sympathise; emergency gear was never particularly comfortable. Shivering in the flabby orange jumpsuit almost twice her size... she really was just a kid.

"If people knew, there'd be trouble, so..."

...He knew it had to be something stupid. Domhnall sighed.

Freiderike chomped loudly through her pastry with a very doubtful air, making Veneti twitch.

"I-It's true!"

Seemed to shiver a lot. Cold? Fear? Relationship issues? He was terrible at reading children.

"What's his name?" He asked evenly, entirely unaware that on the opposite side, Renza was having the exact same problem. Both of them were just so _blank_, so professional, like little white boards she could write down all her testimonies on so they could read them back in court. She couldn't tell what they were thinking at all.

But the Incubators could.

"_Deflect the question;"_ Kyubey advised immediately, _"his Device will look up names."_

"I-I..." Renza hesitated, flustering. "...Do I have to?"

"Do you have any reason not to tell an Ispettore?" Pinici asked mildly.

She bowed her head. "I don't want word to spread."

Pinici sighed. "We're not interested in gossip; we're doing this for your own sake."

That... confused her. "_...Si?_"

The table went oddly quiet; the Ispettore frowning behind those folded hands. "...You were attacked."

Oh. _Oh._

She'd been assuming this was about the group collapse the entire time. Suddenly everything felt horribly obvious.

"H-He wouldn't hurt anyone!" She improvised quickly. This was turning into a minefield and if the Ispettore got the wrong idea-

Pinici raised his head from his arms, now displaying genuine confusion. Which was somehow more terrifying than everything earlier.

"Even so, you live in Tosca territory, don't you? We've looked into your family history and-"

"_It's not like that-!_"

-Wait, no, was that a good answer? It could- but- no- wait-

The Ispettore just stared.

Silence fell between them, the wind tearing at her hair. She found herself shivering.

When the Ispettore spoke again, he was leaning forward, hands under his chin, and watching her with a careful, focused intensity. It was like trying to say no to her father; lying to a higher authority than the Trari Sorella. Which she was, technically. She could no more dodge their questions than she could stop the sea.

But she had to, so she gave them her full attention.

"Are you sure of this?" The man asked.

She clenched the sleeves of her coat under the table. "Yes."

The woman tilted her head. "If this is putting you in danger, you need to tell us."

"I know. It's not."

"You were attacked, before."

"That's unrelated. And, that was an accident, wasn't it?"

The Ispettore remained silent as they looked her in the eyes. She saw something shift in there, like doors closing shut.

They didn't believe her. It was obvious she wasn't giving them full information. But she couldn't do that, and had to work with it.

"You know," the man asked quietly, "I usually make a point of not interfering in family affairs, but are you aware of who you are related to?"

Renza nodded calmly.

Another blustery moment passed. It was fortunate there wasn't anything on the table.

"Are you sure your life is not in danger?"

"Yes."

"You live in a Tosca area."

"I am aware of that. There's a protection racket; paid."

"We arrested two men following you with known connections."

"Even so. Please; trust my judgement on this."

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. And then Renza found herself presented with a heavy, black shape, packing tape removed.

She took her Device back calmly, strapping it back onto her wrist. Her Jacket reformed around her, warm and cutting out the wind.

The Ispettore was handing her something else, too.

"My card." He explained, standing. The man struck a dark, shabby figure against the Valezorro skyline. The woman slid out of her seat with a small sigh, making her seat collapse with a practised motion.

She took her Device back quietly. "_Gratza saneto._"

The man was still watching her, weary and tired. Like he'd seen all this before.

"If you ever want to talk about it, contact me. I can promise confidentiality."

She nodded. "Thank you."

The woman started collapsing the furniture; she stood to get out of their way. In silence; no offer of a lift; the two repacked their gear and restarted their barca, Renza staying in position even as the air shifted and blew out around her.

She stood, and she watched, as the Judicial Ispettore took off into the sky, leaving her behind.

* * *

It took five minutes to reach the canals towards the Judicial district. It passed in silence.

"Well, Fred?" He began, finally. "What do you think?"

Freiderike hmm'd angrily behind the wheel, watching the waterways. Returning to Judiciary required passing through Commercial, and Commercial, as always, was packed. They'd dropped the colours, transforming them into seemingly ordinary civilians, though really after a cursory glance what they were was a little obvious to anyone who knew the signs. Still, this was Valezorro, and some discretion was better than none.

"Holding back, obviously. She doesn't want to tell us something. But that's the thing." She took a turning, and sighed to herself as they hit the tail end of a queue. "I think she believes she's doing the right thing. It's tricky."

Domhnall nodded. Pretty much his conclusion of events. Diamuid was sending the recordings back to the Polizern's data processing centre; hopefully that could squeeze more truth out of things.

It had been a damn long time since he'd been a kid; if there was ever a question of which of them was better with children... well, there just wasn't much of a question. It wasn't even a statement on Freiderike; he just wasn't good with kids. Not at that age. Impossible to decide whether they were adults or not.

"You're sure?"

Freiderike nodded. "I'm sure."

"Coercion?"

She grimaced. "Not like that I don't think."

That caught his attention. "Oh?"

Freiderike tapped the steering wheel, and took a moment to reply whilst she handled a turning. Barcas could turn on a dime, one of the main reason they were more popular than, say, simple motorboats; Valezorro's canalways could get pretty sharp and narrow in places.

Most of them hadn't initially been canals.

"The guy thing is a lie." She stated with certainty.

He tilted has head. "How so?"

Freiderike shrugged. "Call it intuition. It just doesn't fit. Not saying there isn't another person involved, but I'd be surprised if it was like that."

He sighed as the traffic skiffed to a halt in front of them.

"...She's doing something stupid, isn't she."

Freiderike didn't answer that. Not much need to.

The barcas drifted slowly above the waterline.

"The Judiciary won't waste its time on an uncooperative slumgirl." She observed instead. "Short of hoping she'll come forward and tell us, we can't do anything. Dead case."

Domhnall nodded, prepared for that. "Dead case."

Hence the card.

Freiderike watched him in the mirror. "What's gotten you all invested in this case anyway? It's not like you."

That... he couldn't deny that. Just another kid from the slum-docks; just another tragedy of Valezorro that happened all the time, Judiciary or no Judiciary. They could only do so much. So why focus here?

There was a reason; and it was frankly unprofessional. Letting sentimentality get involved...

He sighed wearily, trying to grip on his thoughts. Freiderike spared him a glance. A flash of black hair and pale green eyes.

Ah. Childhood. How could he forget.

"It's the table trick." He settled on, finally as the line started moving again. "Máirín used to do the exact same thing before she disappeared."

His partner looked sympathetic, but made no comment. She knew the story.

Yes, things like this just happened all the time around here.

"If she won't take help, there's nothing we can do. When we get back, we'll drop the case." Domhnall decided wearily. "Unless she chooses to offer up explanations."

Freiderike knew how it ended too. "Or we find her in the canals."

* * *

Her opinion was pretty much final.

"She ain't got a clue; brainless slum rat."

He lounged on his ski, bobbing gently in the water, cigarette hanging limply from dry, worn lips. The acrid aroma of the burning stick overtook the usual salt, fish and oil smells of Valezorro. At least they were nowhere near Industrial. "You sure? Thought you said she's intelligent."

Natalie laughed bitterly in the alley overhang, tossing an apple in one hand. "Books, sure, but she's an idiot. Acting like nothing's happened. Stupid girl."

He sighed. "So she's a no-go then."

That earned a derisive snort, followed by the _crunch_ of a bite being torn out. "Pretty so; might've got us in with the Delgado sure but just you watch; she'll be dead within the week."

Wince. "Lil' pessimistic."

"Ain't pessimism. Between those Tosca fucks and the Judi, someone's gonna kill 'er."

He rubbed his chin; meeting greasy stubble. Reminder: needed to shave. "I dunno; can't we save her anyway? Castillan loyalty thing?"

"Oh like they're going to give a fuck; it was a long shot anyway. She's just some bastard crawling in the slum; halfie too. Think she'd be a full Valezi just to look at her."

"...Let me guess; blue?"

"Oooh yeah. Down to here. Still one-a our's though." She waved her hand. "It's in the face."

He sighed, puffing smoke out into the breeze. The multistory houses of the Residential districts provided ample shade from the afternoon sun, scattering warm, easy colours through the narrow canal. All the island cities had places like these; old paths and crannies that found themselves unexpectedly forming knife-like canals with the rise of the Ocean Crisis. What Natalie stood on probably technically used to be a roof, since reworked into a pedestrian platform.

The gently drifting waters provided a relaxing cadence.

Natalie threw the core into the river.

"Well, 'tween everything it's gonna be a clusterfuck alright. Not like the Judi and Tosca need any excuse."

She shrugged, still half a silhouette in the shaded alleyway. "I'll watch it for sure, but it ain't worth sticking my head out over."

He agreed, watching the smoke drift away. "...Gonna be a mess."

Natalie kept in her alcove, hidden from the noonday sun.

"Say, Jacque..."

"Nn?"

"If I did drag her out of it... they let me in for that, y'think?"

"Ya ain't 16 _chica_. That's Cosa rules."

She snorted bitterly. "Yeah, not worth a try."

* * *

Wandering the markets of Commercial, Renza took in the sights, smells and sounds of Valezorro.

A little like the slum docks with more money and slightly more planning, Commercial had, over the years, turned into yet another chaotic mess of arches, shaded walkways, marketplaces, stalls and buildings in an interconnected, multilevel maze; old Valezian architecture merging with Galean ironwork, Belkan masonry and more modern concrete and glass, with temporary timber and scaffold tents crammed into all the spaces inbetween. Put simply, it was a giant, colossal, multicultural smelting pot. Colours hung from every corner. New sights from every stall. Easily her favourite part of the city.

Down here, things could be roughly split into three categories. The retail stores - typically transdimensional, corporate affairs, but you had local ones popping up here and had there - that started appearing with the advent of the TSAB and the resolution of the Ocean Crisis that made establishing businesses on the island cities actually viable for more than ethical reasons. These had their own buildings, logos and hired staff, but tended to be expensive here and wouldn't accept bartering, and their security wouldn't trust a slum-docker worth a damn. Things like banks and barca showrooms were cloistered away in Economic.

Below them, you had the two levels of merchants. Put simply, the first could afford a license to put their stall up in the atrial Boulevards that ran through the district, and the second could not. On the Boulevards, things were kept generally respectable, with private cameras and a few on-duty Judiciary around to keep an eye on things. Off them... not so much.

If she was in anything other than her Puella outfit or the uniform of the Basso Trari, no-one would let her even get near. An unaccompanied Valezi kid, using public configurations? That there was a pick-pocket for sure! Obviously going around in her uniform at this time would just cause trouble. Her Puella outfit, though?

All the hawkers tripled their prices. She almost wanted to laugh at the irony of it all. And if they knew her _other_ last name...

Well, they'd probably wonder by what Kaiser she was even here, but anyway.

It was a waste of time to begin with; she wasn't looking to shop. For one, she didn't have the money. For another, as had been bitterly established, she couldn't use her Device in this form. Meaning she couldn't use the money she didn't have.

For the third, she was on patrol. She didn't... being a Puella just felt more natural right now. Simpler. Just Puella Magi and Daemons, and that was it.

She held her gem in her hand, having removed it from the back of her neck. A necessity for patrolling, but sadly impractical in combat. She needed both her hands to fight and mercy knew what would happen if she lost it trying to hold onto it and fend off Daemons at the same time. Nothing good, she was sure, given what it was. The last thing she'd need was it accidentally winding up in the canals.

As for the crowds... well, a girl in a rich Jacket, carrying around small blue gem? Obviously she was having a telepathic conversation with an Intelligent Device. It wasn't even out of the ordinary. Kyubey would inspire comments, of course, but he was invisible to ordinary people, and off following the Ispettore to boot. That she was trusted to hunt on her own was a reassuring sign.

Though most Daemons spawned in Industrial, pickings there for them would be slim. Partly, there was the low population density, and more pointedly there was the fact that the Miasma could knock out people's Jackets at low Ranks, leading to suffocation before they'd even had a chance to drain them. No, typically the Daemons wouldn't hang around there for long after they'd spawned. You wanted a place with high population density, where disappearances would be missed and high chances for grief? Commercial was the obvious answer. Kaisers, but Roche had been a cynic.

She could almost remember her, dancing across the rooftops. Watching the city down below.

"_That's what they do, y'know? They hit ya where it's worst."_

...Fighting the Daemons was a public good. A moral obligation. No-one could find fault for her in _that_, surely?

Her soul gem flashed in the noon light.

She had a trail.

* * *

Diarmuid negotiated the docking arrangements. Freiderike brought them in following the barca's internal HUD holographics, the Judicial barca and the Politzern's traffic coordinators hashing out the directions to a free space. They used one of the docks for the flight-capable barca; an enclosed parking area several floors up fed into by an exposed landing/departure balcony. Fred brought them in perfectly, having done it a million times before.

Their craft shut down after they exited, the external mana projections switching off and leaving it completely identical to the rows of the other blank grey-blue Judicial barca in the bay. Dark and musty with vehicle fumes and humming power connectors, the barca dock had that feeling of a place that would be pleasantly cool if their Jackets didn't handle thermals anyway.

Domhnall yawned, waiting for Freiderike to finish locking up. She snorted as her glove-Device and the vehicle beeped joint assent.

"Caffi addict."

"Shoot me."

The made their way down the central channel between the rows of docks to an elevator, bland, functional and plain in that way government buildings always were. A few moments of tedium and bad music later and they were in the _Polizern Judicia_ proper.

The atmosphere, as usual, was a mixture of stale caffi and mild professional chaos. As they left the elevator from the barca docks, they had to get out of the way of a squad going in exactly the opposite direction. Pretty normal, all told.

The lower offices, closest to the docks, were where the bulk of day-to-day dispatch work and organisation happened; resembling somewhere half-way between a ready lounge, a very loud call centre and an extremely haphazard armoury. People manning comms rubbed elbows with people repairing devices avoided rubbing elbows with people just off-rotation and trying to nap. In the centre of the floor, in probably the least convenient place possible, a large black bank of Intelligent Devices sat managing dispatch routes and providing general command and coordination. The sad thing was they'd since found over a dozen better places to put them; they just couldn't afford to switch the damn things off. They were still working on getting the backups online; those things cost _money_.

As Ispettore, it wasn't their department, so they just passed straight through, though Freiderike took the air in a little wistfully; waving to a few people. Domhnall just stole a caff.

Up two flights of stairs and spread across several more were the Ispettore offices; since they didn't need much beyond enough room to fit an Evidence Table, they were just crammed in in the places all the other divisions didn't need. Not at the top, not at the bottom. Not, often, near the windows. The cheap florescent lighting was harsh and acerbic, washing out all the faded woodwork and scuffed floors. The Judicia used to be the old centre of Governance before it moved into its new, modern headquarters in its own dedicated District. The Judiciary just inherited the old buildings; before during the Ocean Crisis they'd all been working out of the old Galean Royal Army barracks in the south of town. Were they a museum now? Or had the Church had them torn down...

Ah, he couldn't remember. Cared less. That place had been an obsolete, rickety deathtrap.

Either way, the corridors were bland, bale and boring. It was all back-stage from here. About the most interesting thing they could hope to find back here were the watercoolers. With the Veneti case dropped, the both had a debriefing to fill into the databases and a new case file to look forward to.

And Director Rice Pascal, Old Man of the Judiciary, smiling, waiting patiently outside their door.

* * *

It lead her high and low; the daemons must have swept through the area to gather their prey elsewhere. It was enough to make her ill; the patterns her gem was flashing. This trail hadn't even started to fade; it had to have happened in broad daylight just a few hours ago. It was ridiculous, absurd; a giant, droning monster just passing straight through crowds of civilians? All of them unaware of its presence, all unwitting as the unlucky were pulled under its thrall...

They must have known she wouldn't be around to catch them. They weren't visible to ordinary people but to a Puella Magi or even an Incubator they'd stand out like a sore thumb. The thought was more than a little terrifying... one lone Puella Magi to one massive, sprawling city...

They knew. The chill she felt was far worse than the wind.

It took several hours for a Daemon to drain someone, and this trail was younger than that. Still, Renza found herself instinctively starting to rush. Would there be more? Kaiser's Mercy what if there were groups of them at it at the same time- if she'd gone back to the Trari they'd have- _Saints, how many times had this happened before-_

The trail was close, but it hardly mattered. She was running for it. Off the street paths and bounding along the rooftops, following the Daemons' 'footprints' - a trail of Miasma - purely on instinct. Commercial beyond the boulevards was a maze built on a maze; buildings rising up and falling down by the day; a rats' nest of factories and docks and marketplaces and storefronts too chaotic for any simple map. She just ran. She didn't need to know where she was. She didn't need to know where the Daemon was. She just needed to follow the trail.

And be there in time.

It was completely stupid of course she'd be there in time _she had hours_ but the shock of it all...

Instinct called her to a halt, skidding on a flat, airy rooftop deep amongst the warehouses, overlooking an old dock long since filled in with concrete to make a slightly uneven loading platform and landing area. Commercial needed somewhere for its commerce, after all. Dark and musty in the shadows of the covered markets and the encroaching towers of the Economic district, it really had all the trappings of a haunting ground.

Her gem wasn't doing anything spectacular, merely seeming to flash, but she knew this was it, as surely as she knew up from down and the way she needed to breathe. If anyone ever asked her, she'd never be able to explain quite how. It was in the air.

Her grip stiffened. The answer was obvious. It was because she was a Puella Magi. What else could do such things? The Puella hunted the Daemons who hunted the humans. That was how it worked. Of course she'd know how to do it. There was Miasma in the air.

The warm, lively gem nestled neatly behind her head. Her hands flicked out, ornate axes emerging into their rightful place. The silence of the warehouse district began to rise; a steady, unnatural hum.

Time to get to work.

* * *

They came for him during lunch break.

Shipbuilding was an exhausting job. Mostly, they built fishing trawlers; essentially just the barest possible bones for a ship and as much space and structural support for cargo haulage and equipment as they could fit within regulations. As a Myedoan C-Rank, he fabricated the structural supports and was partially responsible for holding everything together and in place whilst the engine and systems specialists did their part. Lunch was important partly because it gave them all a rest, but mostly because it gave him a change to recharge and refocus.

The Tosca contact didn't quite help.

"_Benezerre santono;_ bad news my friend."

She slid into the opposite chair. The cafeteria was as full as you'd expect from the time; loud and noisy both from the kitchens and the continuing pound of industry outside. One of the other shipbuilders; a fellow Myedoan caster, her dark blue hair tied into an over-the-shoulder braid in the Valezian style; entwined with white and blue ribbons.

Ciardo kept himself focused on his soup. Fish, as usual; always common in Valezorro. They nicknamed it _zuppa di Mare_ - 'Ocean Soup' - since it tended to get watered down so much it was if the catch had never left. That and the damned salt.

She sipped at her drink, a little nervous. She looked apologetic, if anything.

"The Judi are up to something Ciar. _Bastardo_ Pascal's involved."

Ciardo grunted.

"There's nothing on record either; all's hush hushed within the jackboots."

Ciardo frowned.

She leaned in. "They're visiting the Delgado family. 'Louis Delgado' sound familiar to you?"

He'd paused. It did. Of course it did.

His contact leaned in, watching him carefully. "Don't know exactly what they're playing at with that lot, but they sure got a stir surrounding your little girl."

She watched him earnestly, even as he'd frozen up in his seat.

"You've always been good with us; so we want to be good with you, but we need your help, Ciar. The Judi will never give you anything. You got this job from us, si? You need the assists, si? Can't fight the world on your own."

His entire body felt cold. He knew what she was asking of him.

"...Fine." He said, simply.

She smiled, and flicked a small, metal object over to his side of the table. He caught it automatically; snatching it out of the air. He hardly needed to look at it to know what it would be.

A small metal ring, with a blue stone set in the top.

His contact was smiling warmly now, raising her cup. "Welcome to the Tosca, my friend."

Just like that.

They drank. The woman, at least, was able to smile confidently.

"Don't worry, Ciar. Everything will be alright now."

* * *

The battle began when the roof collapsed beneath her.

It went in a sudden conflagration; a scythe of beams dodged only on the whim of some deeply hardwired instinct. She didn't even register what was happening until she was rolling over the top of a giant agricultural tractor, long since rusted and abandoned after the Ocean Crisis rendered them all useless.

The metal slag of the melting roofing drifted and swirled, spiralling upwards in a lazy, surreal imitation of bubbles in water. That would be the miasma then. Good to know she wouldn't have to explain why a warehouse had demolished itself by the end of all this.

A crowd of daemons. That as far as she got before she was moving again, darting off her perch into the cover of the dusty racks of empty crates and what she assumed was ancient farming equipment. No sign of the civilians. Not good.

Lances of light dogged her, punching, tearing and slicing with impunity, always just a few moments behind.

Given the Daemon's willingness to tear this place apart, whoever they'd enthralled had to be in a different building. Probably somewhere on the other side of the Daemons so they couldn't hit them by accident. The racks where rapidly turning in a barbed wire maze of floating and ragged debris, resembling less ancient but ordered rows and more an angry metal bush as the Daemons hacked them to ribbons in the twisted gravity.

The worst of it was the _dust_. There must have been inches of the stuff before now, but the sudden anarchy had thrown it all to the sky. Under the warped laws of the miasma, it was staying there too, forming thick, foggy clouds that scratched at her face as she dashed through.

Asphyxiation wasn't a worry. Not compared to being _unable to see_.

Whatever instinct it was keeping her alive, she was forced to rely on it now. Sudden jerks, ducks and dances took hold of her body as flashes of light crashed past from nowhere, everywhere and anywhere. Too fast to see. Too fast to comprehend; sudden flashes in the smoke that were already screaming past her ears in an erratic, random barrage by the time they registered. She couldn't think; couldn't manage it, couldn't afford to. She was dodging and weaving without a clue where she was going.

That was dangerous. Roche had spelt that lesson out loud and clear.

The shots were coming from everywhere. Probably surrounded. Too fast to charge, she was pinned in by the steams of fire. She _couldn't_ even charge; the fog ruined her perception; whatever hair-trigger instinct was keeping her alive had barely a split second to fire. Add her speed onto that and she just wouldn't be able to dodge in time.

It... this really was the perfect trap.

It was a trap.

The daemons had laid a trap. They knew what she could do. _They knew_.

She had to get out of here.

The roof buckled, tearing damn near in half as she launched up through it like a shot. The damned dust spewed off her like a rocket trail as Renza sailed up into the clear, blessed skies.

There was brief, bizarre moment of serenity as her velocity slowed. Time dragged out for a second as she hung in the air. All around her, Valezorro was like a dripping watercolour painting; swirling in an impossible heat-haze with oversized plastic gulls hanging on the horizon. Yep, Miasma alright.

Then the second barrage came.

With no way of actually moving in mid-air, Renza improvised; pulling a giant zweihander from thin air, the volley crashing into the massive axehead. Hanging onto the spike at the top whilst her feet found improbable purchase on the grip, the sudden weight dropped her like a stone.

On the plus side, it did get her to the ground faster.

The giant zweihander crashed through the deck, Renza leaping off as soon as it made contact. Shots were already trailing after her, but at the distance she'd bought, she had more than enough time to evade. She was already dodging and weaving as a pealing wail of support structures were dragged down into the pastel sea behind her.

Around six. Ish. Couldn't be completely sure. But it looked like a small group, which was a mercy in of itself. She'd spied them on the way down. There wasn't enough for a full Barrier at least.

She could... do this. She could do this.

Skidding to halt behind a dilapidated loading crane, she stopped to catch her breath. She didn't actually need to; beyond a residual twinge in her leg, her breathing came surprisingly relaxed and even. Well, Puella perks, presumably. She needed to gather herself anyway.

It had been a trap. They'd laid a trap, to catch her... but she must have triggered it early. Right... there would still be several hours until the civilians were drained, weren't there? And less than that hours before she'd normally be leaving from school. So they were the bait and... yeah. Trap.

That they had her schedule was... disturbing, but she could hardly have been the first Puella Magi who had to go to school as well. It wasn't that surprising. Should have been expected, really.

_And I guess Roche wouldn't have known about that..._

In an older time, there would have been another girl, filling the air with bolts and wires, distracting Daemons, hemming them in and rounding them up like bowling pins for Renza to crash through. In another time, there would have been teamwork. Backup. Support.

An eerie silence had descended over the old depot. Nothing but the waves.

Renza resummoned her axes, and charged.

* * *

"Can I get you a drink, Ispettore?"

Pinici deferred. Buhr shook her head. Pascal took a crushed lassé with lemon.

Louis Martice di Delgado had been waiting for them at the Villa's private dock; a quiet, open area with imported grass that doubtless served double purpose as a garden, if the flower bushes were any indication. He lead them through via a series of rooms and corridors into a well-dressed, spacious dining room with bright, high windows, already arranged with a large square table and four chairs, servants bowing out to grant them privacy. The entire villa was done in pearly-white marble and rich, Castillan reds; from the curtains to the carpets.

Domhnall knew the look; the marbles and reds were as iconic to the Delgado's ancestral island-city as the Valezian stone and blue was to Valezorro. It felt a little chaotic, from his perspective; for all the ancient artwork hung on the walls and old throwbacks in the gilded columns and peaked windows, nothing could hide the fact that the Villa Delgado was very, very _new. _Too clean. Followed all the TSAB building regulations to the letter on ventilation and emergency exits. No weirdly shaped rooms or stumpy corridors from having been torn down and thrown back up five dozen times. No old-Belkan or Galean holdovers, no old scars of water damage...

Saint's Mercy he could go on forever. He shook his head. This... really wasn't the time. He was out of place in this environment; he didn't really need telling.

Director Pascal, meanwhile, acted as if he'd never left. He and Delgado exchanged greetings, debated the presence of _casto_ - a type of soft, round biscuit the Castillans were inordinately fond of - made passing mention of the Cosa Nostra and proceeded to dance a dizzying maze of formalities and gestures Domhnall couldn't even pretend to understand the meaning of.

He resolved to just keep his mouth shut for most of the proceedings. At least until they had an idea of why they were here; Pascal had told them barely anything informative.

Just that the Veneti case wasn't dropped.

Everyone was speaking _Caglici_, of course. The 'language of commerce' - on Caglica at least - rather than any of the local dialects. Louis took a seat first. Pascal sat opposite him, and then they progressed right by rank; Freiderike at the tail end.

No-one had set out plates at least, for which Domhnall was quietly thankful.

"Well then," Pascal said pleasantly, "shall we get to business?"

Louis smiled agreeably. "Of course, Director."

Settled into his seat, Louis Delgado made an... interesting figure. Neatly and immaculately dressed in whites and reds - as one would expect from that family - with blonde hair and red eyes; once again, the typical Delgado, and hanging on well to his youth for his age. His sister had been the same, though it seemed the Veneti girl had picked up none of their traits, save some facial structure.

Except the Delgado were supposed to be assertive. Known for it. Knowing what they wanted and plainly stating their cases to public officials such as themselves. They were - politely - an extremely blunt family.

Louis Delgado seemed to be none of these things. Just sitting there quietly, responding to Pascal but making no overtures himself. Smiling politely, as pleasant as pleasant company demanded, but nothing more. He made no demands. He'd said nothing on his own the entire time. Nothing he did seemed to reach his eyes at all.

Once again he was meeting with someone impossible to read. The man just felt empty.

Pascal, Domhnall realised with an unpleasant sort of lurch, was used to it. The old man was sipping at his lassé; even doing work on his Device - non-visibly, of course, but you could always tell - dragging Delgado in and out of the conversation with practised, familiar ease. And Delgado let him.

"This Veneti business -" sip "- all very unfortunate of course. And Jeanne's daughter- ah, can I call her your niece?"

"Of course."

"-Officially recognised as her daughter, though we try not to let it cause a fuss. Wouldn't want the undesirables finding out - cause all kinds of trouble - _is_, in fact, we believe - Ah! I had the Trari not let word out; the Church shouldn't say anything."

Louis shrugged, a small roll of his shoulders that still didn't reach his face. "She already knows about her heritage, though please, do continue."

Pascal blinked a moment. "She does? Well then, less trouble for you, I think. No demands at all?"

"She contacted me to ask about Jeanne a few months ago, but otherwise we have no contact."

"How many?"

It was as if a play had ground to a halt with one of the actors going off script. Pascal paused a moment, his flow of conversation broken, before giving him his attention. Louis was simply watching him without even turning his head. Both reacted, adapting to bringing a third into the conversation.

Domhnall regretted asking immediately.

"I'm sorry?"

"How long ago did she contact you?"

Louis' eyes unfocused slightly as he looked something up - probably checking his Device's calendar. Not immediately clear what that would be; nothing around his neck or on his wrists. Probably in a pocket somewhere.

"14 weeks ago, in Meurta." He clarified. The 5th month of the Caglican calender year.

Domhnall nodded his thanks, made a mental note of it himself via Diarmuid, then quietly hoped neither of them would notice him again. This whole episode reeked of trouble.

Unfortunately, Delgado didn't seem to be obliging.

"You two are the Ispettore leading her investigation, correct?"

The man was watching them now, seeming to pay full attention for the first time in the entire conversation.

"Yes, we are."

Louis nodded. "If you have any questions, I'll answer to the best of my ability. I have access to contacts of my own as well; we can see what we find."

Domh shifted uncomfortably. Freiderike, to her credit, kept as stoic as ever. "Thank you, Signor."

"Louis."

"Louis." Domhnall amended.

Hunching over the table slightly, Delgado picked up his glass. The sparkling wine within was a rich, royal blue - Valezian fare, Domhnall realised suddenly, then kicked himself for not spotting it sooner. It twinkled and shone in the light as Veneti's uncle twirled it gently in his hand.

Even Pascal seemed to be a little thrown.

"Renza Veneti is a stranger to me," Louis spoke up, prompted by nothing, "but she is still my sister's legacy. Ciardo and myself have an understanding that shall not be breached. As her uncle, I wish to help you, but as a Delgado, I cannot."

Those last words seemed more directed at Rice than anyone else. The old man frowned faintly.

"Why?" Pinici asked.

Louis sighed wearily. "Because to the Delgado family, she is a disgrace. My sister is a disgrace."

All at once, the man seemed infinitely tired. As if the face he had put on for Pascal had been dropped aside. Not looking at anyone, simply staring into the little piece of Valezorro that had crept inside this Castillan mansion.

"To understand the Venetis, you must understand this. Nothing in this was planned. Ciardo, when we met, was a good man. The dashing sort; even a comedian. And... a technician. One of our hired staff. Nothing more. My sister..."

He sighed.

"To be honest, I do not understand it myself. But it happened, and now things are as they are. I liked him personally, but Jeanne..."

He swirled.

"The first I knew of their relationship was her throwing up into the toilet with morning sickness. It came out to the rest of the family at much the same time. It was... foolish. That whole thing was a complete comedy of errors. My sister dishonoured, Ciardo disbarred. It should never have happened."

Silence fell across the table.

"So in short," Pinici observed quietly, "You consider Renza Veneti a mistake?"

Delgado looked him straight in the eye.

"They were idiots, Ispettore. They fell too much in love and blinded themselves to the consequences. Now, my sister is dead and Veneti is just some drunk on the docks."

He set his glass down, leaving it sparkling in the light.

"Of course she was a mistake."

* * *

A flurry of white pixels filled the air as Renza crashed through a Daemon and charged out through the other side. At least beyond their Barriers, the Daemons struggled to phase through walls. The miasma helped of course, subverting natural law until there was enough of it to discard them completely.

Too little too late to save the one she'd just chopped in half.

A flurry of lances and she dived, down an alley formed by two warehouses side by side. A long, thin, overhung artery that should have been a killing ground had it been anyone else.

She was skidding out the other side in barely a matter of seconds, using an axe as an improvised brake. Still moving at speed she leapt, hitting and bounding off the opposite wall to swing by an axe head off a power coupler up onto the roofs of the warehouses she'd just passed between.

One down. Five to go? Daemons being both identical and perfectly capable of walking through walls, miscounting and losing track was dangerously, dangerously easy.

Stay high, pick your targets. Only dive down to engage. That's what seemed to work best. _And never drop your guard until the Miasma fades._

Her leg twinged. This running around wasn't doing it any good.

There. Moving between the ironwork stumps of a pair of cranes long since pulled down. Were there any more around? Couldn't see. Where were the civillians? Didn't matter; they weren't _there_.

Snap decision. Renza dived. Initiative was vital in these fights.

She bounded off the lip of the roof like a rocket, crashing into the frames at the opposite side of the dock in less than a second, crashing up great sprays of pixels, water droplets and twisted chunks of iron.

Two dead.

Instinct threw her through the crater as a lattice of laserlight screamed behind her. Ambush again, probably. Beneath the dock was a maze of dust and concrete supports plunging into the unnaturally flat mirror of the ocean. When the debris hit it, it fractured like glass.

Miasma for you.

Renza rebounded off it, the sunlight through the gaping hole she'd punched through the deck reflecting and diffusing into the dank environment. Laser fire dogged her, themselves reflecting and scattering off from the mirror in waves, filling the space that had never seen light for centuries with bright, scathing light as the entire deck seemed to tear up and away, cutting off from the mirror like a model being pulled from its mount.

The Daemons were still shooting her even through the deck, tracking her position with eerie accuracy. But that was fine. Even with the scatter, the barrages of lasers was letting her track _them_ too.

She charged, crashing up through the deck and bursting through an empty office, sailing out into the pure Valezian sun, the head and shredded top half of a Daemon already dissipating behind her.

Three dead.

She sailed straight, wind breezing against her, flying across the decks in a gentle ballistic curve with contrails of dust and rubble trailing leisurely behind.

The roof shook hard when she slammed into it, the metal sheeting denting under her feet. Three dead. That should be half. Not enough to ambush or mob her; she should be able to keep them divided now and pick the stragglers off with relative ease. Good thing too, between the bursts of speed and ensuring that she, herself, did not splatter onto the concrete when she charged, pulling those sort of moves took more of a toll on her gem than you'd think.

With the scene relatively clear, she slid the gem out of its perch - the egg-sized stone slipping out easily and loosely into her hands despite all the sheer forces she'd been moving under previously - and quickly checked it.

You could typically tell by feel or intuition, but it was dangerous to rely on that. Visually was best.

The blue gem was darkened faintly. With an attentive eye, you could spot tiny flakes, little specks of blackness, fluttering and swirling within like a crowd of minuscule feathers in a breeze. Around half full, she'd say.

She grimaced. That was always the danger in losing or getting injured; breaking even could be difficult enough.

Watching the skyline for movement, she slipped it back into place like putting on a necklace, then got moving. Three dead, three left. Time to scout around a little; first to find the last three and second to figure out where all the civilians were being held.

She'd have asked Kyubey if it wasn't off trailing the Ispettore.

She frowned. That was irrelevant right now.

She surveyed the scene, looking for a likely hiding place. The holes she'd punched into the deck where like gaping, weeping scars, debris still floating and twisting about under the broken laws of the Miasma, bringing to mind an open wound in Valezorro itself. The skyline was twisted and warped at the boundaries of the space; skyscrapers protruding like ribs, aircraft circling like flies. Far and in the distance, the beating heart of Valezorro sat in the cradle of Commercial, pulsing and shining and vibrant with life by the commands of Governance's cortex and Economic's stomach. The red sun shone upon the red canals that made the lifelines of the city; a glittering, glimmering red.

Renza flinched. It... it hadn't been doing this before, had it? The seas had gone from a flat, reflective mirror to a red-grey fog that stank of mists and Industrial and decay.

The air had changed. This was almost a Barrier. An entirely _different_ Barrier.

The axes in her hands made a reassuring weight. Swallowing, she tore her eyes away from the cityscape and focused on the structures, pale bone-like concrete and sinewy wood.

There. A big, near-featureless building, built like an oversized concrete slab. One of the storage bunkers during the Ocean Crisis, keeping critical supplies safe from the storms. The Daemons needed the civilians to not die in the carnage themselves; a supply bunker would provide the greatest protection.

The roof was solid when leapt off, and the ground solid when she landed on it, but her brain still interpreted it as squishy somewhere. It was a dock. A collection of buildings. Stone slabs and wood and concrete and iron bars. Nothing here was organic. Nothing at all.

But this old dock, built over and filled in when expansion overtook it, had been one of Valezorro's vital organs once. Taking in supplies, bringing in imports, accumulating refugees, pouring in the resources that made a city a city and helped it grow. Overgrown and outdated after the post-crisis growth spurts but still a major stopping point. Now within its borders it served as storage, a part of Valezorro's industrial gut, a transit point and storage point still visited by the vessels of workers and transporters circulating throughout the city.

She shivered. She had to... stop. Stop thinking about it. It was entirely in her head and had nothing at all to do with the solid iron door she was shoving aside as she cut into the fat slab bunker like a butcher cutting into-

_Stop it._

The iron grey door opened like an iron grey door, the squeaking squeal of rusted metal on rough concrete reassuring to the ears. Within was dry and dusty; an entry lobby with the desks unstaffed. All the doors were open in here; the Miasma having crawled into and subverted the security systems completely.

Aware of what it was trying to do, she could see through the Miasma's confusion with ease. Yes, she could see the connection between the Miasma and a disease, and why that would make this a point of festering infection. But it was still very much a very ordinary bunker; just old and dusty, no period details because it was a _bunker_ and had to have been thrown up in a hurry. This wasn't a Barrier. Not yet.

Part of her wondered what the civilians would be seeing.

The lobby was actually part of the thick, thick walls surrounding this place; built by hollowing out the wall; essentially a internal gatehouse. Lit by winking florescent sticklights embedded in the ceiling, the walls drab and covered in posters to remind people of safe lifting technique and the current security procedures. A waiting table and a bunch of half-filled caffi cups filled one of the corners. Just a room, just a building. Just a set of stairs at the side she went through rather than using the main door.

She went high, as she usually did. There would be racks on the other side, she knew; at the end of the day the bunker would be just one high, well stocked room. The civilians, if she was right, would be in the centre, and if she was wrong it wouldn't take long to check, confirm and leave. It the was the Barrier that was worrying her.

Her suspicions were proved right in every respect.

Civilians; a gang of near twenty, dock workers and commercialites and random street-goers alike, clustered in the centre of a cleared space in the middle of the room, the racks and rows of crates pushed out to form circles and patterns on a monochromatically tiled floor. Expected.

Surrounding them, stood the Daemons, tall and proud in wait.

All nine of them.

Not expected. Renza stumbled back as the towering cloaks turned and faced.

And then the light came for her.

* * *

"Don't get me wrong through," he said, noting the change in their expressions, "I only consider _their_ actions a mistake. What they did. When they did it. It just wasn't the proper way of doing things; of course it ended badly. I can hardly blame the girl for her parents' actions; it's a folly. We just have no reason to contact each other."

"What makes you say that?"

Louis sighed. "Part of our agreement. The family does not want to even think about Veneti or Jeanne. If word came out we were in contact, it would be trouble for all three of us."

Domhnall considered.

"Off the record, would you consider it likely a member of your family would attempt to assassinate Veneti?"

Louis frowned, clearly a little surprised. "No, I shouldn't think so. It's not their style. They use softer methods, and would be targeting Ciardo in any case."

Freiderike tilted her head. "Softer methods?"

"He didn't always live in the slumdocks."

Pascal just grunted. Domhnall shifted slightly in his seat. "You seem remarkably candid about this."

Louis sighed. "I have no proof of anything, nor suspicion of who specifically was responsible for it. Most likely, it was simply whispered that Ciardo Veneti had angered the Delgado family, and individual employers kept that in mind."

He shrugged. "It's a legal grey area, hence why they prefer it. I know my family, Ispettore. They know how to avoid pointed fingers."

Pascal had frowned, he noted. Global labour law was another thing that would have to be cleared up for the TSAB to accept Caglica under Administered status. As the Director of the Judiciary, he held partial responsibility for that alongside the Directors of Governance, at least where Valezorro was concerned.

"In the slumdocks, the Venetis can be forgotten. An assassination would be too much trouble; raise too much fuss; induce too much risk. The rest of the family is in Castilla, don't forget."

"Except you." Freiderike stated.

"Except me." Louis agreed, nodding diplomatically. "We the Martice branch - that is, Jeanne and myself - came here to expand our business interests in the first place. I stay to maintain that investment."

The way he said it had an air to it; a false little lilt, as if to hint at the subtext within.

Well, not like he could blame the man, from what he was hearing.

"Enjoying your freedom, Mr Martice?" Domhnall asked.

He smiled. "The distance is agreeable, yes, though pray don't mention it. And please; Louis really is fine. We're discussing personal matters."

Domhnall did not nod. "From our perspective, we are discussing _professional_ matters."

Louis conceded. "Then call me whatever you wish, Ispettore."

He nodded. He preferred the formalities.

"So you're certain the Delgado are not involved in this?"

"Not directly, no. Though I can't deny the possibly of them being an influencing factor."

Domhnall nodded, sending another mental note to Diarmuid.

"How is Renza, may I ask?"

Catching him by surprise with the question, it was Freiderike who answered first.

"She's recovered well; barely in the Serenità too long."

"You couldn't check yourself?" Domhnall queried, having finished the note. "You should have access rights as her mother's sibling."

"But such things would go on records," he replied sadly "and someone would take notice."

"It's funny, you know? I hardly know the girl, but I still feel a little proud. If the circumstances had been different, things could have gone so much better."

"You got her into the Basso Trari, didn't you?" Pascal asked.

Louis just smiled. "Actually, I didn't. That girl is a true child of the Saint."

Eyebrows raised across one half of the table.

The glass swirled in his hand once again, before he finally raised it. "For the same reason I cannot check on her in hospital, I cannot help her in her life. But even so, my sister still shines through. She made the Saints all on her own merit, with barely a mage rank to her name. She's a true Delgado at heart!"

He laughed, almost proud. "So you see, Ispettore? There's no need for me to help Renza Veneti."

"She doesn't need it."

* * *

She dodged. Somehow. Dodged. Ran. The light chewed into the walls. Walls would slow them down. Ran out, ran through the lobby, slashed through the doors, out into the open air of Valezorro, that faintly charred, faintly oily smell the city seemed to breathe. The lights cut like surgeon tools, slicing and incising through the weary concrete flesh of the bunker.

Outside, three Daemons sat, preaching a dark, bassy drone from individual rooftops. The ones from before. Which meant they weren't any of the ones that been in there. Ahah. Haha.

She was going to die. Walls collapsed behind her.

Something snapped. Summoned at her call, a giant gleaming zweihander crashed up through the deck, the red, gaseous sea spewing up with it in a colossal bout of decaying liquids. Banishing it with a wave of her arm, the zweihander launched itself through the lobbyway from whence she came, a ten-ton collision of metal and rebar tearing through the walls with greater force than any storm or car accident.

Renza hadn't stopped to watch. She was running. Running. Had to run. This was too many and she _didn't want to die here._

Her gem tugged at her, icy cold on her spine. She couldn't run.

Desperately, she circled around the dock, dancing the rooftops at insane speed as a hail of light tore after her. First one? Second one? Couldn't remember. The hole in the dock. She landed in a crash, rolling and tumbling and somehow snatching the fallen cube in passing before launching with an almighty kick into the bone-hard concrete into an uncontrolled spin, flying across the open ground of the filled-in docks to burst through the roof of a warehouse in a hail of torn metal skin and hairs of ironwork.

Rolling to her feet, she slammed the cube against the back of her neck so hard it nearly toppled her. Her aching limbs lightened in a brief respite, a few brief moments of weightlessness, before the block of malevolence started feeling truly dangerous. She removed it quickly and made to toss it to-

-Oh. Right. _Kyubey wasn't here._

The first lance of light punched into the building. She just threw it as hard as she could.

By the second, she was already outside. Where had the other ones been? When she crashed back up and... between two the warehouses.

Somewhere.

She had to run twelve was too many but if she didn't get the cubes she would barely have enough to fight properly the next time - Kyubey could collect them usually but if left with the Daemons they would just spawn back again and that _wouldn't help any_ why hadn't she contacted Kyubey why-

For a moment, she wondered how exactly she was supposed to do that. It wasn't like the creature had a Device or anything.

"_Kyubey! Kyubey?!"_

Nothing for it. She broadcasted desperately. The rooftops pounded and rang beneath her feet. From the burst pustule of the demolished supply bunker more lances of light cried out at her, as a throng of sickly white Daemons, five or six strong, emerged from the wound. She hadn't even killed them all.

"_Kyubey? **Kyubey!**"_

The small office building she'd exploded out of from underneath the docks was a slumped, sagging corpse of a structure, iron supports bent out like broken bones with the old flakboard walls crumpled and torn away. Broken desks and chairs and storage units - the typical detrius of an office - had spilled out all across the scene like splatter from a gunshot wound. It was carnage; an utter mess and she was looking for a little black object barely the size of a cartridge in here by the Saint's Mercy _how_-

Utterly improbably, it was right by her feet where she landed. It... that hadn't been conscious at all.

Light flashed for her. She kicked it into her palm and ran, as the lasers tore into the husk of the office like a pack of angry wolves.

She held the cube against her gem as she fled, mid-flight.

"_Kyubey?"_

Find the third. Run. That was the entirety of the plan. Where had she killed it again one of-

"_What is it?"_

Calm. Unhurried. Just an odd, artificial lilt of curiosity. Kyubey had responded. She turned mid-flight to look down the direction-

The distraction very nearly killed her.

Managing to fling an axe in the way at the last moment, catching the light in her eye out of sheer dumb luck, the bolt deflected rather than cutting her head off. An angry line of fire tore across her back, sending her flight into an uncontrolled freewheel.

The sky and Valezorro inverted. Flipped. Inverted again. Images passed by like a blur; a blot of red, genuine blood trailing out behind her; the angry black cube flying far out of her hand; Roche falling into the canals; a rush of concrete and wood; the dense, blackening thud of impact as dust scattered in impossible swirls; the sky, oddly brilliant, for a weightless moment.

"_Do you require assistance?"_

The ocean, rich and red, rising up beneath her.

She sank.


End file.
